


Takeover

by taiyakisoba



Category: Original Work
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Blushing, Corporate Espionage, F/M, Gender Role Reversal, Gentle femdom, Loss of Virginity, Older Woman/Younger Man, Reluctant, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2779652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taiyakisoba/pseuds/taiyakisoba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your parents married you off to Fia Lucreza, the corporate shark known as 'the Barracuda', you knew your new life as a househusband wouldn't be a quiet one. But you never expected her world to be so full of bitter rivalry, decadence and intrigue...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Your hands are trembling as you carry the tray of tea and freshly-baked madeleines into the sitting room and set some down on the table before Miss Lucreza. She’s the honoured guest at your family’s home today, and you parents were eager for you to make a good impression. You’re dressed in your best suit, you hair newly cut, and there’s the gentle scent of aftershave that your father helped you apply.

“Women like it when you smell nice,” he told you.

Miss Lucreza’s eyes are glued to your hands as you take up the teapot and pour the tea for her and yourself. You glance across at her while you’re safe from the intense gaze that set your heart racing when you first met her. 

Seated on the settee and dressed in a pencil skirt and white blouse she looks as if she’s come here straight from a meeting. Your parents told you that she’s the CEO of a major corporation so she probably has. She apologised profusely to your parents for coming improperly attired, but they just laughed it off and assured her that even though Collatini is an old aristocratic name your family don’t obsess about manners the way most of the newer aristocratic families do.

Miss Lucreza’s shoulder length hair is a natural chestnut-brown, her skin surprisingly pale and interspersed with a dusting of freckles. You hand a steaming cup on a saucer to her and you can no longer avoid her gaze. Her eyes are blue-green, not unlike the depths of the bay your mansion overlooks, and her features, while delicate, are defined, almost etched. But the smile on her brightly lip-sticked lips make her seem far less scary than before and as she lifts the cup to her mouth she arches her eyebrows and murmurs in appreciation.

“This is _really_ good!” she says, placing her cup and saucer on the table. You finish pouring your own and are about to sit on the chair at right angles to Muss Lucreza when she leans over and pats the space on the settee next to her.

“Why don’t you sit here?” she says.

You stare at the space, your face growing hot. Sit next to her? A strange woman when you’re parents aren’t present? You open your mouth to say something, the twin demands of etiquette struggling inside you. You should always be accommodating to a guest, and yet....

Miss Lucreza laughs. It’s a surprisingly loud laugh which startles you. “It’s okay,” she says. “Your parents won’t be angry. They know we’re just going to be chatting. I just want us to get to know each other a bit better.”

Still blushing, you seat yourself next to her. With her body so close to yours, you can feel the warmth of her body, smell her distinct fragrance. It’s a floral perfume, not unlike your mother’s, but there’s an undercurrent of her own scent, a hint of perspiration and a certain rich spiciness that makes you swallow hard.

As you fidget, trying to get comfortable, she leans over and brings her face near to your neck. You start, but Miss Lucreza is smiling as she sits back again. 

“I just wanted to find out what smelled so good. Turns out it’s you.” 

You take up your tea and sip at it, hoping that having something in your hands will make your nervousness less noticeable. The tea is a little astringent, you notice; you left it standing too long. Miss Lucreza was polite to say it was delicious.

She’s watching you as you drink and when you put your cup down you accidentally spill a little of it on your hand. It’s hot and you gasp, more from surprise than anything else, but you gasp again when Miss Lucreza takes up a napkin and placing your hand in her own dabs at it.

She sighs. “There’s no need to be so nervous, you know. I won’t bite you.”

Somehow, the warmth of her hand, the softness of skin against yours, calms you. Now dry, she pats your hand and you take it back.

It’s Miss Lucreza’s turn to appear nervous. She doesn’t seem to know what to say and so you jump in to save her embarrassment. Why doesn’t she try one of the madeleines? You baked them yourself. They’re not really very good, and probably burnt, but...

She picks one up and takes an eager bite. Her blue-green eyes widen and she murmurs as she swallows a mouthful of the sweet cake.

“Delicious!” she cries. “Did you really bake these yourself?”

You drop your gaze to your lap and nod. You enjoy baking, you tell her, although you’re not good at it.

The ice broken, the two of you start to talk more freely. You tell Miss Lucreza all about yourself. As the son of an aristocratic family, it’s really just an account of your current studies: poetry, music, dance, natural science, French and of course baking. She seems impressed and starts speaking to you in French which you switch too without hesitation.

Still speaking in French, she tells you all about herself. Her full name is Fia Lucreza. “But please call me Fia,” she says.

You stammer that you could never call her by her first name, especially since you’ve just met, and she laughs and shakes her head.

“Please. I’d like you to call me by my first name. ‘Miss Lucreza’ makes me feel old.”

You drop your gaze, defeated. Since she insists, you have to do as she says.

“Can you say it?” she asks you, arching her eyebrows.

“F-fia,” you say, eyes lowered, your heart racing at the intimate use of a strange woman’s first name.

Fia seems charmed by your reaction and she ruffles your hair. “Good boy,” she says. “Now I feel like we’re friends chatting rather than some job interview.”

Fia tells you she’s the Chief Executive Officer of Cantarella, a company that makes cars. It’s a name you recognise since your mother owns one.

She asks if you can drive. You shake your head. Your mother has always said that men should stick to male things, and women to female things and since you have a chauffeur, it’s never been a problem.

“Well, I’d love to teach you one day,” she says. “Driving is a skill even boys should learn.”

She goes on to tell you about where she lives, an apartment in the city which is only a short helicopter flight across the bay to her corporate headquarters. “It’s not far from here,” she says. “It’s much smaller than your mansion, though. And I don’t have any servants.”

No servants? So her husband must do all the housework, then.

Fia laughs. “Oh, I’m not married.”

The idea is shocking. Then how does she look after the cooking, her laundry, all the cleaning?

Fia’s smile is rueful. “The apartment block has a laundry and cleaning service, and I cook for myself, mostly, or have food delivered.”

But that can’t be very healthy, you say, straightaway covering your mouth with a hand and blushing at your rudeness. But Fia doesn’t seem offended. If anything, her smile grows brighter. She leans across and pats your hand. 

“There’s no need to worry about me,” she says. ”I make do. Although it does get lonely at times.”

You nod. It must get lonely without any servants and living alone. You can barely imagine what it’s like. You’ve spent your entire life surrounded by servants, your parents and your siblings, your three older sisters. 

Fia takes a small piece of the madeleine and pops it into her mouth. 

“You know, I’d really love to be able to eat your cooking every day,” she says. She glances at you, and the expression on her face is suddenly uncomfortable. “Do you... do you think you’d mind it very much if you had to cook for someone and clean and do their laundry and all that sort of thing?”

You shake your head. After all, when you’re married, it will be your job as a husband to look after your wife and keep her happy. Isn’t that the same sort of thing?

“It was lovely to meet you,” says Fia suddenly. She gets up off the settee and as you move to join her she leans across and kisses you on the cheek.

You stand there, shocked, touching the soft, warm spot with your fingers. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, amused by your reaction. “I guess that was a little forward. But you really are sweet. Even sweeter than those delicious madeleines of yours.”

You escort her from the room. Your parents are waiting outside and you make your apologies before returning to tidy up the tea service, leaving the three of them to talk. You’re wiping the table when FIa ducks her head back inside.

“Thank you for the tea,” she says. “Everything was delicious.”

You return to your tidying up, a deep blush suffusing your face at her praise.

A short while later Fia leaves, apologising that she has a pressing meeting to attend to. Your parents ask you to escort her to the front door and you do so, thanking her for her visit.

As your butler opens the door, she takes your hand and lifts it to her lips. Your heart skips a beat just like before.

“See you again soon,” she says.

You watch her walk down the crushed brick path to her car. It’s sleek and black and you stare as Fia opens the door for herself and gets inside.

No chauffeur. Just like she said.

Then the car drives off and you’re left standing there, wondering why your heart is pumping so fast in your chest.

Your parents are waiting for you back in the sitting room. Your mother asks you to sit down. She leans forward, a smile on her lips, a strange sight from one who’s usually so dour and serious.

“So what did you think of Miss Lucreza?” she asks.

She seemed very nice, you say.

“Oh, I’m very pleased to hear that,” she replies, leaning back. “The wedding is on Sunday.” 

\----------

You can’t sleep. You lie on your side, roll over, and finally end up on your back staring up at the ceiling.

Marriage. The word has been all you’ve thinking about since the announcement. Marriage to Miss Lucreza. Wait, no - to _Fia_. 

You knew you’d get married one day but you never expected it to happen so suddenly. You’ll soon have to leave your family and go and live with Fia in her home, share her life and her bed.

Her bed. The thought sends your heart racing with nervous excitement.

A strip of pale yellow light appears next to the window. Someone has opened the door to your room. There’s the soft padding of bare footsteps and then a whisper of material against material as they get into your bed.

You don’t need to turn your head to know it’s your sister, Loretta. 

“Congrats on your engagement, little bro,” she whispers, and even though you can’t see her face, you have no doubt there’s a mocking smile on it.

She’s three years older than you, the youngest of your three older sisters and the only one still living at home. Unlike the others, she’s never shown any interest in a career or study and spends day after day in frivolous pursuits around the mansion, the main one playing pranks on you. Your parents have never really shown any interest in her, so you can’t really blame her. As the baby of the family. you’ve often felt that you get all the attention, for good or ill.

You turn over and try to discern her face in the twilight of your room. Her teeth are glistening in the half-light. She’s grinning, just like you expected.

You thank her anyway. For all her teasing, Loretta and you are close. You reach out and touch her hand and she takes yours and holds it. 

Tears start in your eyes. You’ll have to say goodbye to her in a few days. She’ll be able to visit, but you’ll never again have the freedom to go on adventures like you always have. No more stealing food from the kitchens or teasing the servants or exploring the mansion grounds.

“Are you crying?” she asks.

“No,” you lie.

Loretta snorts. “Why are you crying? You’re going to get married. I’m _never_ going to get married. You’ve heard mom: I’m totally unmarriageable. Although I guess I can always do what Miss Lucreza is doing and buy a husband.”

You ask her what she means.

“I heard mum and dad arguing again, but _this_ time it was about you.”

Your heart skips. Have you done something wrong? Did Miss Lucreza say something about you?

You shift uncomfortably and Loretta knows straight away what you’re thinking. “Like you’d ever do anything to make them angry, Mr. Perfect. No, it’s about the marriage. Dad kept going on and on about how you’re too young to get married and that they didn’t know Miss Lucreza well enough yet.”

But she was very nice, you say. Polite and kind and...

Loretta laughs. “You know what everyone calls her? ‘The barracuda.’ She’s made all her money from swallowing up other companies into her own. Everyone drives a Cantarella now, right? And she’s the CEO. Think about how much she makes a year.”

But she lives in a small apartment, you say.

“Ha! Maybe compared to the mansion. I looked it up on the net. She has an apartment in Giada, on the bay. It’s a penthouse. It even has a helipad.” She whistles. “I’m kinda jealous, actually.”

She said something about buying a husband...

“Oh yeah,” says Loretta. She’s still thinking about the apartment. “Anyway, the argument went on and on and dad accused mom of auctioning you off to the highest bidder. You know the family’s been having money problems, don’t you?” You answer in the negative and Loretta snorts again. “Boys. You don’t know anything. Anyway, we’ve always been rich, right? Nuh-uh. We might have a big name and a title, but we’re actually pretty poor - and getting poorer. There was a problem with some of mom’s investments a while ago and we’ve been haemorrhaging money since. We lose any more, and we won’t be able to keep the mansion or the servants or any of our stuff.”

You laugh. She’s joking, right?

“Nuh-uh. It‘s the truth. But we still have a name and a title. Mum’s a Contessa, don’t forget. There’s plenty of people out there than are rich but of low birth. They’d love to have a name like ours, and the only way to get one is to marry into it. So mom let people know she was looking for a wife for you.” Loretta squeezes your hand. “There was a _lot_ of interest in you, you know. Congratulations.”

You don’t know how you feel. How could they have been interested in you if they’d never met you before? They were just interested in your family’s name.

Miss Lucreza. Fia. So she...

“Yup. She’s going to pay off all our debts. It’s just spare change for her, I guess. I read on the net she’s personally worth seven hundred million dollars.”

Seven hundred _million_ dollars?

“You know, you can just tell mum and dad that you don’t want to get married. Dad would back you up. You know how he can make mom do whatever he wants.”

You feel a pain in your chest. So Miss Lucreza bought you, bought you for your name. She doesn’t love you. Your eyes grow hot. Stupid. Why would she love you? She just met you. 

But if you want to marry someone, it means you’re in love with that person. Doesn’t it? That’s what you’ve always thought. And now...

Your parents, fighting. Losing the mansion, losing everything...

“Bro?”

You wipe at the tears in your eyes. 

“So are you going to talk to dad?”

You shake your head. You’re happy to get married, you say. 

Loretta makes unsure noises in her throat. Then she squeezes your hand. “Well, I guess you’re lucky, actually. A lot of the potential suitors were pretty old and ugly. Miss Lucreza’s still in her thirties and really good looking, don’t you think? I bet you’re going to have a lot of fun on your wedding night.”

Your wedding night.

“Hey, mom and dad told you about the birds and the bees right?”

Stammering, you tell her that of course they did. 

Actually, they just gave you a book. It was very technical. 

“Good,” says Loretta, relieved. Then a deep sigh. “I’m going to miss you, little bro. Promise me you’ll invite me over to your place all the time, okay? The internet says the barracuda’s apartment has a pool and a tennis court and _everything_.”

The excitement in Loretta’s voice steels your resolve. You have to do what’s right for your family. And she’s right, you _are_ lucky. Miss Lucreza is rich and powerful and beautiful...

...and called ‘the barracuda.’

Loretta leans across and kisses you on the mouth. “Night, little bro. Let’s go on an adventure, tomorrow okay? I guess it’ll probably be our last.”

She closes the door and you feel the tears long burning your eyes begin to flow.

\----------

The wedding is a humble affair in the family chapel in Mattone, the little village nearest to your ancestral lands. Your entire family is there, right down to the strange, eccentrically -dressed decrepit relatives that you only ever see at weddings and funerals. But it’s your sisters that make a big deal of you. Loretta is there, of course, but rather than her usual bubbly energetic self, she’s strangely subdued. She compliments you with the others on how handsome you look and keeps on hugging you. You realise then how much the two of you love each other and you find you can barely look at her without crying.

Janisa, the eldest of your sisters, takes out her handkerchief and dabs at your eyes, murmuring. “Try not to cry too much,” she says. “People might get the wrong idea.”

“Oh, stop it, Jan, he’s just happy,” says Savina, the middle of your sisters. She’s already onto her third glass of champagne and is at her cheerful stage. Later you know she’ll start crying _herself_ , like she always does. “Isn’t it the day every boy looks forward to?”

You smile awkwardly and nod. The truth is, though, that you never really thought about it all that much. And now here you are, on the first day of the rest of your life, your married life.

The little chapel is dominated by your family. There are very few people from Fia’s side: just a couple of people in suits who look like they must work for her. Is she somehow ashamed of taking you as her husband?

Janisa notices you glancing around and she reads your mind. “Miss Lucreza’s an only child. Adopted. After her parents died and she inherited the business there was some bad blood with the rest of her family. I remember reading about a whole bunch of legal wrangling. She won in the end, though. She _always_ wins.”

A hush falls across the crowd. Fia has arrived. Your sisters grab you and fuss you over to the aisle where your mother is waiting.

“You look so handsome,” your mother says, tears starting in her eyes as she takes your arm. You’ve never seen your mother display that sort of emotion before and it makes you even more nervous.

The front door of the chapel opens and red afternoon sunlight spills in. Fia appears, dressed in her wedding gown. You haven’t seen her since that first meeting a week ago and your heart ends up in your throat.

You’d forgotten how beautiful she was.

Her gown is silk, classic white, reaching to the floor in a simple sheath silhouette that compliments her voluptuous hourglass shape. It suits her far more than any lacy, frilly thing with a long train ever would. As she glides into the chapel you’re once again surprised at how tall she is. With her hair done up and tastefully decorate by a small silver tiara, she almost seems like a fairy-tale princess.

Your heart races as she takes your hand in her own. She smiles at you, although you can tell she’s nervous by the way her glistening eyes flicker as she looks you over.

“You’re so handsome,” she whispers.

Then the wedding march begins and Fia leads you up the aisle between the two walls of smiling and crying faces to where the priest is waiting. 

The whole ceremony passes by like a dream. The exchanging of vows, Fia slipping the ring on your finger, your first kiss. Her lips are hot against your own and luckily the gasp that escapes your mouth is drowned out by the fervent clapping and cheering that greets the kiss.

Then it’s the two of you floating like an island among a sea of happy faces, shaking hands and hugging and laughing at well-meaning jokes. You’ve never been good in crowds, but with Fia’s hand on your arm you’re not as nervous as usual. 

The reception passes just as quickly with the speeches and jokes and seemingly endless series of toasts. You’re careful to only take a little sip at each of the toasts, but even so after the last one you feel a little unsteady as you sit back in your seat.

“You okay?” Fia whispers.

You nod. You’re not used to drinking, you tell her, and they keep refilling your glass.

She laughs. “That’s okay. People just want you to have a good time.” She pats your hand. “I’ll sneak a few drinks from your glass so you don’t get too drunk.”

The reception comes to an end. Fia somehow manages to drag you from your weeping sisters and parents and after thanking everyone present she leads you to her waiting car. It’s the one you saw her driving before, but it’s been decorated with white ribbons and wreathes.

She lets you in on the passenger side and then gets behind the wheel. 

You remember that she doesn’t have a chauffeur and mention the fact. The car growls with pent-up energy under her hands.

Fia chuckles. “I know it’s strange for the bride to drive the getaway car, but I don’t trust anyone else to drive me.”

She places her hand on yours, then shifts gears and pulls the car out of the driveway. A cheer rises up as you drive away and you look back at your family waving to you. Loretta runs a short way down the driveway after your car, waving with both hands.

A tear starts at the corner of your eye and you discretely brush it away, remembering Janisa’s words.

“Try not to cry.”

\------------

It’s a long drive back into the city even with Fia driving well over the speed limit. Curves in the road mean little to her and she barely slows down to take them. As you drive down into the valley she takes one corner particularly sharply and you lunge for the grab-handle above the window with a yelp.

Fia slows down and glances across at you, her face apologetic. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m usually the only one in the car. I guess I just have a lead foot.”

You tell her you don’t mind, but you still hang on to the grab-handle. Fia laughs.

An awkward silence falls between the two of you. You stare out at the landscape spinning past, the oaks and ashes a grey-green blur punctuated by flashes of blue and silver. The bay and the city beyond it.

“I’m sorry we don’t have time to go on a honeymoon,” says Fia at last. “I’d love to, but I’m too busy at the moment. We’re at a particularly sensitive juncture in our takeover of Lunghezza Motori.” She glances at you. “It’s a big motorbike company,” she adds.

You tell her you understand she’s busy. You try to think of something to talk about after that, but nothing comes to mind.

“I’m really sorry,” says Fia at last. “Damn. I keep apologising to you, don’t I? If anyone on the board could hear me they’d think I was getting soft.” She sighs. “But I am, really. Sorry I mean.” Silence. “You miss your family already, right?”

You want to tell her not to worry, that you don’t miss your family, but it’s a ridiculous thing to say and obviously a lie. So you nod.

“Your dad seemed pretty cut-up,” says Fia. “He wasn’t too happy about us getting married, was he? Your mom told me that he was around your age when they got married.”

You didn’t know that. 

Fia reaches across and puts her hand on your knee and you jump. She pulls it away just as quickly.

“Wow. Am I really that scary?” she asks, hurt.

You were just surprised, you reply.

Fia sighs. “I guess we just need a little time to get to know each other.” Then she adds, her voice tentative, “You’re... you’re not used to women touching you, are you?”

Not really, you say. You stare down at the hands crossed in your lap.

“It’s okay,” says Fia. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I think it’s cute, actually. Really cute.” She looks across at you, grinning. “ _You’re_ really cute. Did you know that?”

You stammer that you don’t think you’re cute at all.

“We should have gone on that honeymoon anyway,” she says, wrestling the car around the next bend with particular violence. “It’s not fair to you. None of this is.”

Tears have started in her eyes. At first all you can do is stare, but then you lean over and press the side of your face against her bare upper arm. It’s soft against your freshly shaven cheek. Sniffing, Fia squeezes the tears away and glances down at you, kissing the top of your head.

“I’m a lucky woman,” she mutters.

You sit back again and she rubs at her eyes with a wrist. She flashes you a smile then returns to driving.

You flush with happiness. You were able to cheer her up. Your father’s advice as you kissed him goodbye replays in your head.

“A husband’s job is to keep his wife happy,” he told you. “Like it says in the vows: ‘to have and to hold’. Hold her whenever she needs to be held.”

“I can’t wait for you to see the apartment,” says Fia, her voice much brighter now. “ _Our_ apartment, I mean.”

\--------

The numbers on the display fly upwards as the lift carries you from the underground car-park to the penthouse. You had no idea a building could have so many floors.

There’s a gentle chime and the lift doors open. Fia, who’s been silent for the whole ride, turns and with a mischievous chuckle grabs hold of you and lifts you bodily off your feet. You yelp in surprise and throw your arms around her neck. Then, taking a careful step, she carries you into the apartment.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” she says as you cling to her. “But I didn’t want you tripping on the threshold or anything unlucky like that.”

Your heart is still racing as she puts you back on your feet. You had no idea she was so strong.

You’re standing in a miniature atrium with a number of small chairs and a table topped with a vase of strelitzias. Above them is a painting of Cupid embracing Venus. You immediately recognise it.

“A Bronzino!” you say.

Fia chuckles. “You know your artists well.”

You blush, saying that art history was one of your favourite subjects. You hop up for a closer look, remarking on how good a copy it is.

“Oh no, it’s an original,” says Fia. Then she takes your hand and leads you from the little atrium and into the apartment proper.

As you walk into the main living area the mood-lighting switches itself on, changing darkness into twilight. The apartment is open plan and huge, the far walls made up of single panes of cola-black shaded glass. A white modular sofa that could comfortably seat two dozen people stands just off-centre while a minibar lies flush against the nearer wall, the clusters of bottles hanging behind it glistening in the half-light. In the far corner of the room is a baby grand piano. A staircase beside you leads up to a mezzanine floor where you can see shelves filled with books and interspersed among them doors leading off into other rooms. 

You stand there, staring. Fia coaxes you further into the room then barks, “Windows!”

The caramel shading of the glass melts away, rendering the windows translucent and you drop Fia’s hand as an incredible view is revealed.

You’re looking out over the Bay of Amatista in the evening. On your left the sun is boiling away into a sea of gold and red, the tiny black specks of ships and yachts scattered like the burnt-out embers of a fire. On your right the city is glowing, gilded by the last of the day’s sunlight. The landing lights on the top of the skyscrapers flicker red and green. The first stars of the night have already appeared and among them flashing suborbitals are lining up to land at the airport far across the bay.

Fia leads you to the sofa and sits you down. 

“I’ll get us a drink.”

She comes back from clinking and pouring behind the minibar with two glasses.

“I know you don’t drink much,” she says. “So I made you a cosmopolitan. I hope you enjoy it.”

You’ve never tasted one, but you know what it’s made of vodka, Cointreau, lime and cranberry juice. The crimson liquid smells sweet and you nurse it as Fia sits down next to you.

She’s drinking a martini. She swizzles the toothpick in the tarnished gold liquid and then jabs the olive rolling about in it. She pops it into her mouth and chews it as she explains everything you can see with the now-empty toothpick.

“The Mediterranean is so pretty in the evening don’t you think? Growing up in Monti Bicchieri I used to always catch flashes of it glowing like a pool of gold whenever I came back home from school. I decided that one day I’d live somewhere I could see it wherever I turned my head.” She points over to the right. “The city, of course. Do you see the triangular building? There’s the green light of an orbital flying over it right... now. That’s the Cantarella headquarters. It’s where I spend most of my day.” She sighs. “Most of my _life_ , I guess.” She glances at you. “You’re not thirsty?”

You shake your head. You _are_ thirsty, it’s just the sight of everything has paralysed you. You take a sip at your drink and murmur. It’s really good.

Fia seems pleased. 

“I’m going to go and have a shower and get changed,” she says after downing the rest of her martini in one go. As she stands up she looks at you with surprisingly timid eyes. “Perhaps you’d like to join me?”

You almost spill your drink. You stutter as you try and reply, but you have no idea what you’re saying. Fia laughs and pats you on the head.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I’m just teasing you.”

You walk around the apartment sipping your drink with only the far-off shushing of the shower as background. With Fia gone the apartment is suddenly eerily quiet and you remember what she said about the place being lonely. You decide to sit down at the baby grand and try the keys. The tone of each note is exquisitely sharp as if it’s been recently tuned. 

You open the music which is already sitting there and let your fingers run across the keys. The music hums out and you start to play Mozart’s _Turkish March_. You’re so engrossed you don’t notice the shower has stopped until Fia is standing behind you.

“Beautiful,” she says. 

Startled, you stop playing. She’s wearing only a towel wrapped around her breasts and is drying her hair with another. The top of her chest and shoulders are shower-pink. 

She blinks at you with her green eyes. With her hair wet and flat, she looks far younger, almost childish. Without her makeup you notice there are more freckles than before. 

She said your playing was beautiful. Beautiful. You mouth the word without saying it. Fia. She’s the one who’s beautiful. She’s so close to you that can feel her freshly showered skin bleeding warmth.

A strange smile appears on Fia’s face, then, and you realise you’ve been staring.

“Finish your drink and take a shower, darling. I’m guessing you’re as tired as I am after our big day. There’s a towel waiting for you.”

\-------

The bathroom, like everywhere else in this apartment, is huge, the shower big enough to fit half a dozen people. Water comes sluicing down over you from a slot in the roof like a waterfall and with the touch of a button you can change the way it flows. Like a little kid, you spend a long time playing around with it and not wanting to leave.

No, that’s not the only reason. You’re still nervous about being alone with Fia. Fia, only a towel between you and her flushed nakedness. Her breasts and hips had seemed really big beneath her towel. You’ve seen naked women before, of course, but not one like her. There was a time that Loretta used to surprise you by walking around the house naked until your mother caught her and put a stop to it. But the gangly body of your then-teenaged sister was very different from the ripe voluptuousness of a mature woman.

But you can’t hide in here forever. You finish washing yourself and wrap yourself in the towel. It’s bigger than you are. You come outside, shivering. 

You poke your head out into the living room. Fia is sitting on the sofa, a fresh martini in her hand. She’s no longer in a towel but in a purple bathrobe. You ask her where your bag is.

“The concierge came up while you were showering,” she says. “I took the liberty of laying out your pajamas for you. They’re on the bed.”

_Our_ bed.

She glances back at you and laughs. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t know where the bedroom is. It’s the third door on the right straight up the stairs.”

You sneak away and pad up stairs, feeling Fia’s eyes on you the whole way. 

The bedroom is huge. The window that dominates the entire opposite wall looks out across the dark expanse of the mountains. Fia’s penthouse must take up the whole of the top floor.

The bed is emperor size. You strip out of your towel and slip quickly into your pajamas, the cotton soft against your sensitive freshly-showered skin.

You sit down on the corner of the bed and dry the rest of your hair. Your heart is racing with the tell-tale signs of excitement.

The books your parents gave you were very technical, but it was overhearing one of Loretta’s conversations with a friend that taught you even more about what sex is all about. She was laughing with her friend about a boy she’d had sex with at a party the previous night. His performance had been less than satisfying and she’d kicked him out of the room, naked.

Would you be able to satisfy Fia? Like your father said, it’s a husband’s job to keep his wife happy. You shiver, running your hand over the embroidered duvet. You’re Fia’s husband now. A husband.

You’re still sitting there, alone with your thoughts, when Fia appears in the doorway.

“I thought you got lost,” she says. There’s concern in her eyes despite the smile on her face. “Do you want to go to bed already? The rest of the grand tour can wait until tomorrow.”

You nod. 

“Just let me go brush my teeth,” says Fia. “Best hop into bed. The air conditioning sometimes sets itself a little too high and I don’t want you catching cold.”

You do as she says. The bed clothes are cool against your body. You feel like a tiny island floating in the midst of an ocean lying there. Your eyes are glued to the door. Any moment it will open up and Fia will come in. 

Your wedding night.

She’ll want to do it, of course. You wonder how different doing it is from all the stuff you’ve read about. What if she doesn’t like the way you do it, doesn’t like your body?

You’re lying there, fidgeting, when Fia returns. She turns down the lights. She’s no longer wearing her bathrobe but a nightgown. It’s made of blue silk and shimmers about her as she walks over to the bed and gets in.

Fia lies on her back and sighs in delight. You’ve scooshed across to your side of the bed and so there’s a gap between the two of you. 

“Comfy?” she asks.

You murmur in the affirmative. 

You lie there, listening. Fia’s nightgown whispers with every tiny movement she makes. Your heart is still racing. Is she going to make the first move or are you supposed to? You can feel her warmth, just out of arm’s reach, her natural fragrance, stripped now of any perfume. It’s a delicious scent and it does nothing to calm your rapidly beating heart.

You stare up at the dark ceiling. Is this what married life is going to be like? Part of you wishes you were back in your own bed, but another part curses your nervousness, wishing you could just reach out for her. You’re her husband, and it’s what women and their husbands do. You’re not a kid anymore.

A whisper of material. Fia has turned on her side. You smell the freshness of her breath. Then her voice, warm and gentle.

“I’m getting lonely. Come here, darling.”

You swallow and move closer. Fia wraps her arms around you and you’re surrounded by fragrant softness. Your face presses up against her ample breasts as she kisses you on the top of the head.

“Try and relax,” she says.

You bring your arms around her. She’s so big compared to you. The smooth firmness of her back against your forearms contrasts against the luxuriant softness of the breasts flush against you cheek.

You shiver from a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

“Shh,” says Fia, squeezing you closer. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything tonight, you know.”

But it’s your wedding night, you murmur. Aren’t couples supposed to...

Fia chuckles. “I can wait. I want you to be comfortable with me before we do anything.” She buries her face in your hair and mutters happily. “You’re so warm. I didn’t realise this bed was so cold before.”

You can hear her heart beating. It’s beating almost as rapidly as yours. Is she nervous, too?

No, not nervous. _Excited._

You snuggle your face against her breasts. They’re soft. Your own heartbeat slows. Being held in her arms, listening to her gentle, calming murmurs, you don’t feel nervous anymore. 

Fia runs her hands along your back and down to just above your butt and you gasp.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I’ve wanted to grab it all day. I guess I can touch your butt whenever I want now we’re married, right?”

Her voice is playful and you nod. If she really wants to, you don’t mind.

She gives your butt a squeeze and then leaves her hands there. 

“You’re so warm,” she says. “And your hair smells good. You know, I think I could get used to this...”

She continues talking, but you hear less and less as sleep slips over you. 

\------------

You wake. You can hear someone’s voice, raised. For a few heartbeats you scramble to reclaim your memories, wondering where you are.

Fia’s bed. No, _your_ bed.

The voice is Fia’s. She must be in the living room. She sounds angry.

You slip out of bed and push open the door. You can see movement down in the living room. It’s Fia. She’s wrapped in her bathrobe again and is walking back and forth, coming into sight and disappearing again whenever the mezzanine floor blocks her.

Her voice is raised, but she’s trying to keep quiet at the same time, turning her words into a controlled, hoarse explosion.

“I need to know who I can trust, Elana. Someone on the board must have let something slip about our current vulnerability.”

Another voice, a woman’s. Her tone sounds conciliatory, but it’s too soft to make anything else out. 

“Do you think I’d be ringing you on my wedding night if I didn’t suspect someone? We’ve so much capital wrapped up in the takeover now that it’s the perfect opportunity for them to take _us_ out. Why do you think I’ve been dealing with that snake Quinn? I need to know who’s got their daggers out for me so I can stab _them_ first.”

More from the unseen Elana. This time Fia doesn’t try to remain quiet, her anger exploding out of her.

“Look, Elana. I don’t give a fuck if they call me paranoid. I want everyone at a meeting tomorrow morning, first thing. Anyone who’s not there I’ll assume they’re not behind me and they can expect my foot up their ass. Goodnight.”

You close the door, your heart racing. Her voice was so different, so harsh and cutting, and the look on her face... 

She’d looked like a totally different person.

The barracuda. 

Fia calls your name. She must have noticed the door shutting.

You scramble into bed and squeeze your eyes shut. The room lightens as Fia steps in. She slips out of her bathrobe and climbs into bed.

You lie there, pretending to sleep. Fia turn over and slips her arms around you.

“I know you’re awake,” she whispers, her lips moist against the back of your neck. “Your breath is shallow.”

You make no reply. Your heart’s still racing, and this time being cuddled from behind is making it worse.

“Are you scared of me?”

You murmur something in the negative and she sighs.

“Sorry I left you up here all alone. I guess you were starting to get cold.” She cuddles closer to you. Her hands slip up over your stomach and your chest. 

You lie there in silence for a while, then Fia says, “You know they call me the barracuda, right?”

You nod.

“You don’t have to worry, you know. I’m only a barracuda to my rivals and my enemies. I don’t eat my friends.” She peppers the side of your neck with hard, wet kisses. “Although you’re so sweet I think I could eat you all up.”

The final kiss becomes a gentle bite and a suck. You gasp. Fia chuckles.

“Just a little love bite from a barracuda,” she whispers. “I didn’t break the skin, but it’ll leave a mark. Everyone will know you belong to me and stay away. ‘Property of the barracuda’.” She licks the sore spot twice, then takes her arms from around you and lies on her back.

“I think I’m going to enjoy being married,” she murmurs.


	2. Chapter 2

Fia leaves early the next morning. She’s already dressed in a blouse and pencil skirt when she wakes you with a kiss. You turn your mouth away, saying you’ve got morning breath, but she just laughs and turns your head back to kiss you again, properly, her hips hot like the first time she kissed you at your wedding.

“Even with morning breath you taste delicious,” she says. She glances in the dresser mirror and checks her lipstick. “Sorry to race away. I’d love to spend the day just lounging around and showing you more of the mansion, but I’ve called a meeting. You’ll be okay here on your own?”

You nod, but you don’t really feel all that confident. 

Fia notices and ruffles your hair. “The place is pretty idiot proof. Just experiment with all the buttons until you work out what they do. There’s a remote on the coffee table that controls everything. Any problems, call the concierge on 131. Oh, and there’s a phone - on the kitchen bench, I think - it’s yours. My private number’s in it, so if you really need to contact me use that. I know you’ll only use it in an emergency. My number’s on the wallscreen as well if you find that easier to use.”

Her watch beeps and she crumples up the tissue she’s been using to adjust her lipstick and tosses it in the bin. She ducks back and kisses you on the forehead. “I’ll be home as soon as I can. Let’s have a romantic dinner on the balcony.”

You insist on seeing her off. She leads you up a small flight of stairs that end in a heavy door that she has to unlock. Amused by the confusion on your face, she says, “Oh, the car’s just for weekend jaunts. I usually take the helicopter to the office.”

Fia opens the door and a fresh morning breeze blows into your faces. She kisses you a final time then leaves you to watch from the doorway as she walks across to the helicopter waiting on the helipad. Turbines whine as the rotor starts its lazy spin and soon the displaced air is blowing into your face, forcing you to push your hair clear of your eyes.

Fia waves to you from the cockpit and mouths something you can’t hear over the noise of the blades now swiftly cutting through the air.

Then the helicopter takes off and in a few moments it’s a dark spot swinging over the glittering blue-gold of the bay. 

Feeling bereft, you watch the helicopter until it dwindles from view. You close the door on the exquisite view of the early-morning bay and descend to the living room. Without Fia around, the apartment is as eerily quiet as last night.

The remote is where she said it would be, but it takes you longer to find the phone. You finally find it on the arm of the sofa and flip through the contacts.

There are a lot of names you don’t recognise. Fia’s is there and also the woman she was talking to last night: Elana. She must be a secretary or something like that.

You put the phone on the coffee table and return to the remote. There are no labels next to the buttons, just strange glyphs you can’t understand, but with a little experimenting you soon find you can turn the windows clear and opaque at will, lower a huge screen that’s part of a home theatre, turn the sound system on and also activate the wallscreen.

The wallscreen is on the wall opposite the three with the windows that overlook the bay. It puts your small one at home to shame. You flick your hand in front of it and take it through all its options: videophone, television, internet. You feel too fragile to check your email as you originally intended and instead file through the list of contact profiles.

So that’s what Elana looks like.

Once you’ve learned how everything works, you take a quick shower and then it’s time to explore. The kitchen is the first port of call.

There’s a huge walk-in pantry and a double-doored refrigerator, but both are almost totally bare. The pantry has a lot of instant stuff in it, as does the freezer section of the fridge. You uncover multiple open jars of the same thing: pickles and balsamic vinegar, and you mutter in exasperation at such gross inefficiency.

You sit down and write a shopping list on some Cantarella-themed stationery. There’s a lot to buy. You get back on the wallscreen and place an order with the local supermarket. You’d have liked to have gone shopping in person, but you’ll have time for that later. The rest of the apartment still beckons to be explored.

You find the guest bedrooms, complete with their own en suites, and a study. It’s locked. Probably where Fia keeps all of her important documents. There’s also a small gym and a training room attached to it. Fencing dolls arrayed against the far wall.

Of course. Fia’s an accomplished fencer.

The apartment has three balconies. The largest one is on the upper floor so that it doesn’t obscure the view from the living room, and from the table and chairs and the second mini bar there you decide it must be for entertaining. The second is an intimate little balcony just off from your bedroom with an outside bench shielded by flower boxes. The third L-shaped balcony on the first floor commands a view of both the bay and the mountains. There’s a small swimming pool attached to it as well as a Jacuzzi and a cottage garden. 

You sit down on a rattan chair next to a rosemary bush already in bloom and run your hand through its fragrant branches as you look out across the bay. You soon find what you’re looking for: the Cantarella HQ.

You lie back and wonder what Fia is doing right now. You’ve only known her for a day, but you’re already missing her. So this is what married life must be like, then. Lying back in luxury and missing your wife.

You shake your head and get up. A husband has a lot of duties, after all. 

Even though the apartment is clean, it’s very unorganised and you spend your morning sorting out piles of books and linen stacked in strange places. Then the concierge contacts you to say your groceries have arrived. The delivery woman brings them up, boggling at the view while she stacks the bags on the kitchen counter. 

After you pack everything away you busy yourself with exploring the kitchen. There are a number of top of the range appliances, some of them still in their original packaging.

It’s obvious Fia seldom cooks. She probably doesn’t have the time.

You put the kitchen through its paces. You bake some cupcakes, the scent sweetening the air when you pull them out to cool before icing them. It’s a cheery, familiar smell, and the apartment feels more like home because of it.

Once you’ve iced the cupcakes, you get to work on deciding a menu for tonight’s dinner. You had a glance at the frozen meals in the freezer before throwing them out and it’s obvious that Fia likes meat.

Well, she is a barracuda after all.

You’ve just put the roast on when there’s a trilling from the living room. It’s the wallscreen. You grab a tea-towel to wipe your hands with and hurry out to pick up the call, expecting it to be Fia.

The face that appears on the wallscreen isn’t her, though. It’s a woman around the same age as Fia who you don’t recognise. When she sees you she arches her eyebrows, her dark eyes going wide, but then a smile flashes into being on her lips, a smile disarmingly sweet. She leans forward to get a closer look at you, pushing aside the lock of glossy black hair that falls across her sharp and fox-like face. 

Your heart skips. Whoever she is, she’s very beautiful.

“Please excuse the intrusion,” she says. “Is Fia at home?”

You shake your head. She’s at a meeting, you say. You glance at the tickertape information filing by at the base of the screen.

...Quinn Asakura, Managing Director of Cayetano-Kichijouten Banking Corporation...

Asakura nods. ”Ah. That’s why I wasn’t able to reach her at her office, then.” Her eyes flick down and you realise you’re still holding the tea-towel. Her smile deepens. “Doing some cooking? I’m sorry to have dragged you away from it.”

You protest that there’s no need for her to apologise. You had just finished icing your cupcakes when her call came through.

Asakura chuckles. “I had no idea that Fia had hired a personal cook. You seem very young for the position.” Her eyes slide over you. Dressed only in your room clothes you feel almost naked under her gaze. “Very young. But you’re no doubt very good at what you do.”

You stammer that you’re not a cook, really, but Fia’s husband. The woman’s eyebrows fly upwards.

“Ah. I must apologise for my rudeness, then,” she says. “I had no idea Fia was planning on getting married.” She quickly composes herself. “First, my most heartfelt congratulations. I’m Quinn Asakura, but please call me Quinn. I’m a business associate of Fia’s.”

You introduce yourself, stumbling over the words. Quin’s beauty is striking, and the intensity with which she looks at you makes everything you say sound like a lie.

“Well, Fia’s done a good job keeping you under wraps,” Quinn remarks. “I can see why. Jealousy is bad for business, after all. You’re more than adorable.”

You stare down at your feet, mortified by her praise. Quinn laughs and you look back up.

“My, my! I believe I’ve made you blush again. I must apologise. I’ll let you get back to your cooking. But would you let Fia know that I’d very much enjoy hearing from her?” Her eyes glitter as she glances at the tea-towel still in your hands. “And of course I owe you both a wedding gift. Something for the kitchen would not go amiss, yes?”

You say that there’s really no need but Quinn dismisses your protest with the sweep of a hand.

“No, no, no. I insist. And once I’ve decided to do something, there’s no point arguing with me.” She smiles. “Just ask Fia about that.” You see Quinn reach towards her own screen and press it. “I’m sending you an invitation to my next soiree. I suppose Fia might be annoyed by the imposition, but you really need to come and press the flesh with us. Hopefully you can coax Fia out of her little bubble. For a barracuda she really does enjoy the isolation of an aquarium.” Quinn winks at you and breaks the connection.

The details of the invitation float across the wallscreen and you stand there, staring at them, dumbfounded by your whirlwind introduction to Fia’s world. Then you hear the oven click over and you hurry back to the kitchen.

\------

You sit at the table and look at the time on the fridge’s display.

9.15.

Fia sent you a message that she was going to be a little late and to expect her at 7.30, so you’d timed the meal to be ready just before then. 

Now the duck salmis has gone cold, as have the potatoes Lyonnaise and artichoke puree. You found a large number of bottles of a particular type of beer in the mini bar and you decided that it must be Fia’s favourite, so there’s one sitting beside her meal. The bottle glistens with condensation, too warm to drink. You’ve already swapped numerous warm beers with cold ones, expecting Fia home at any moment, but this time you put the bottle back in the fridge and don’t replace it.

Suddenly, you hear the distant hum of what might be her chopper. You hurry over to the window. There’s a group of lights floating over the darkened bay.

Fia?

A black shape behind the lights appears and grows larger. Then it swings up overhead and you know it has to be her.

You bounce up the stairs and by the time you’ve worked out how to open the door Fia is on the other side. She’s fumbling for her key card, her hair dishevelled, her eyes dark and tired.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, pecking you on the cheek. “I know I said I’d be back earlier but there was drama in Marketing. I had to fire the Director and there was a bit of unpleasantness. A lot of unpleasantness.” Her eyes flick over you. “You’re a real sight for sore eyes, you know. I’ve been dealing with lawyers in starched shirts all day.”

As you lead her down the stairs she sniffs the air. “Wow, that smells amazing.” When she sees the food itself waiting on the table she stops and rubs at her eyes with the back of a hand. ”Damn. You did all this for me?”

You nod. You’re sorry you didn’t get the timing right and that the food’s cold, but you can probably reheat everything.

Fia tosses her briefcase aside and sweeps you up into her powerful arms. Her kiss misses your mouth, your lips merely brushing when you turn away, not expecting it. 

Fia makes no further attempt. She hugs you close. “I’m really, really sorry.”

You shake your head. You’re just happy she’s home. It’s true. The apartment had grown dark and cold and lonely without her. 

Fia sits down at the table and you bring her a fresh beer. She gratefully twists it open and takes a long drink.

“How d’you know Menabrea’s my favourite?”

The mini bar was full of them, you say. 

Fia squeezes her forehead. “Of course. I’m not thinking.”

She moves to carve the bird but you stop her, insisting that you do it. You cut a couple of big slices, serve the sides and then pour the sauce.

She eyes the food predatorily and you tell her not to wait for you. But she shakes her head. “It’s our first real meal together,” she says. “We need to do it properly.”

As you serve your own meal she gets some champagne from the minibar. 

“Trento spumante,” she says, peeling the foil from around the cork. “I’ve been leaving this for a special occasion.” She takes your hand in the middle of slicing the duck and makes you help her pump the bottle up and down. The cork bursts out with a pop and foaming champagne floods your hands.

You gasp at the foam dripping onto the floor but Fia just laughs. “Oh, don’t worry about it! I’ll tell the concierge we need the carpet cleaned.” She spills more champagne on the floor intentionally then pours the bubbling liquid into the glasses. “I know you shouldn’t mix champagne and beer, but it’s been a long day. A very long day.” She hands you a glass and you bring them together with a chime of crystal.

Fia takes a sip and shivers in delight. “I’ll make it up to you,” she says. “Getting sucked into my shambles of a life.”

You sit down to your meal. Fia is in high spirits and devours everything. She barely says anything between mouthfuls and seeing her enjoying the food makes you flush with happiness. 

You enjoy watching her eat so much that she’s on the point of finishing her plate when you remember the call from Quinn. As soon as you mention her name Fia stops eating and looks at you. She chews the morsel still in her mouth, swallows and says, “What did she say?”

You tell her about the party invitation. Fia rolls her eyes. “I was dreading that. A party, huh?”

You ask Fia if she doesn’t like Quinn. She snorts. “I don’t have to like her, just do business with her.” She looks you right in the eyes, her face serious. “Don’t accept any more calls from Quinn Asakura.”

You nod then ask whether you’ll be going to the party.

“We have to,” says Quinn with a sigh. “But enough about that woman. Seconds please!” She pushes her empty plate at you.

You fix her seconds and as she digs in you get up to start packing the leftovers away. Fia places a hand on yours. “Just leave it. Let’s go relax outside. Grab the champagne would you?”

She leads you out onto the main balcony and pulls up a couch. Seated together, you gaze out across the glossy bay. The city sparks on the opposite side, spilling its neon light across the water. The view is serenely beautiful. 

The champagne starts to go to your head. Fia feels so warm beside you, and over the warm salt scent of the ocean you can smell her. Tired, you rest your head on her shoulder and she places her hand on your knee.

Fia pours herself another glass and freshens yours. “So, tell me all about your day,” she says. When you tell her you spent most of the day tidying stuff up she laughs. “I noticed. You did more than just that, though. You know, I’ve lived here for years, but until tonight it never felt like home. Coming back to you was... well.” She encircles your shoulder with an arm and tousles your hair. “So how do you feel?”

Happy, you tell her. It’s true. You think you’re starting to get used to the idea of being married.

“I’m happy too,” says Fia.

The bottle of champagne is soon finished and Fia goes and gets another one. “Well, I was going to keep it for another important occasion, but this one is so special I think we need to open it.”

This time the foil causes her some trouble, but she eventually struggles it off. She hands you the bottle.

“Your turn to pop the cork,” she says.

Nervous, you hold the neck of the bottle out over the bay and turn your head away as you ease the cork out little by little with your thumb. Fia laughs and grabs hold of the bottle and shakes it wildly. The resultant foamy blast flings the cork out into the darkness.

She overfills both glasses and you sit back down. You wonder out loud whether the cork has hit the ground yet. Fia puts her glass down and turns to you. Her eyes are hot, her smile sultry. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Surprised, you nod. She takes the glass from your hands and then she’s kissing you. Her tongue is hot, sticky with champagne. Fia pushes you against the back of the chair, her lips glued to yours as she cups your chin with her hands, her fingers teasing up into the hair behind your ears. 

The kiss is voracious. She presses down on you, her body covering yours. All you can smell is her, the scent of her body, the salt of perspiration, the acid of the champagne.

The sudden intensity sets your heart racing. You feel yourself getting stiff. Fia slides her hands down from your face and begins to unbutton your shirt, but she soon gives up on this with a snort of frustration and dips her hands lower.

They’re in between your legs, cupping your hardness. Fia breaks the kiss, drawing your bottom lip between her own lips and mouthing it. “Looks like you’re ready,” she mutters.

She dips her tongue back into your mouth and this time she’s even more aggressive. You struggle, but her tongue stays in your mouth, intent on exploring everywhere. Her hands are pulling your shirt from out of the waist of your pants and her fingernails score across your stomach. It’s hard to breathe. 

“C’mon. Let’s get these damn pants off,” she hisses against your lips as she fumbles with your belt.

You start pushing back at her, desperate to breathe, frightened by how quickly everything is happening. Only then does Fia break the kiss, leaving you gasping, chest heaving. She lies back, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Jesus,” she mutters, frowning. “I’m sorry. I... Jesus, I was just too worked up.” 

You lie there, staring at her, stammering that it’s okay and that you just couldn’t breathe. It’s a lie, though. She did scare you. 

Fia shakes her head. Without a word she picks up the champagne and glasses and goes inside. You follow her. She places them in the sink and then sits on the couch and puts her face in her hands.

“I’m such a fuck up,” she mutters. “I promised I’d take things slow with you and then I just...”

You sit down next to her, biting your lip. You’re not sure what to say. You feel worthless for making her feel this way. You should have just let her do whatever she wanted. It’s a husband’s job to keep his woman happy. A husband isn’t just someone to tidy the house and organise the bookshelves and make dinner. It’s his job to support her, and please her as well. And you’ve failed utterly.

You lean over and embrace her. She shivers and moves as if to pull herself away, but then she looks up from her hands. Her eyes are moist.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I’m under a lot of stress. Things... well, things are a bit hard for me at the moment.”

You hug her tighter and she turns and throws her arms around you.

“Let’s go to bed,” she says. Then she laughs. “For sleep, I mean.”

\-----

You wake in the middle of the night. Fia’s not there. Alarmed, you slip out of bed and pad over to the door. A muffled sound is coming from downstairs, the living room. Another call, maybe?

No, not words. Noises. 

You open the door just enough to slip out. You try not to make any noise. You drop to your knees at the balustrade and peer down. Nothing, but the noise is clearer now.

Murmuring and then a gasp.

You tiptoe down the stairway and near the bottom you spot Fia. She’s lying back on the couch, her eyes closed, her nightdress bunched up around her stomach. One hand is under the cup of her bra and the other is moving inside her underpants. Her chest heaving, she bites her lip, smothering a gasp that tries to escape. 

You know exactly what she’s doing. You’ve caught Loretta doing it more than once. She’s playing with herself.

Fia takes her hand from her underwear and puts one and then two fingers into her mouth before sliding them back inside. 

You ache with shame as you watch her. You’ve reduced her to this. You’re the one who’s supposed to please her, to keep her happy. It’s like you’re not her husband at all, just some kid that she’s babysitting, playing at being a husband.

Fia’s gasps grow more frequent, the fingers inside her underwear more violent. Then she cries out and lifts her knees up as her entire body shudders.

You flee then, up the stairs and back into the bedroom. You slide into bed and push your face into the pillow. Your eyes feel hot and wet.

Don’t cry, you fool. She’ll know you saw her. She’ll be humiliated.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to relax your body. Fia’s footsteps pass the door on their way to the bathroom. Flowing water swishes from the tap and a short while later the door opens.

Are her footsteps guilty as she approaches the bed? Maybe you’re imagining things.

Fia slides in beside you, leaving a gap between your bodies. She lies on her back and it’s only a few moments before her breathing deepens and she starts to snore.

For you, however, an eternity passes while you struggle to sleep, the weight of your failure as a husband crushing your heart.

\------------

The next morning you wake before Fia. You barely slept at all during the night and instead just lay there on the bed, listening to her breathe and watching her sleep. The barracuda had looked so peaceful, her head resting on the pillow, her chestnut hair curlicued over the pale skin of her cheek and neck.

When she comes down the stairs still in her nightdress and rubbing her eyes, you’ve already got her coffee and breakfast ready. You get her to sit down and bring her breakfast to her. It’s just some brioche and jam but her eyes light up when she sees it.

She samples the brioche and murmurs in appreciation. “Don’t tell me you just baked this!”

You fight down a blush and nod, saying that brioche is incredibly easy to make. Anyway, you made the dough last night since refrigeration always makes it taste better. 

You fuss around, making sure that Fia has everything she needs for her coffee. She has it with lots of sugar and lots of cream. Once she’s happy you make yourself some tea and sit down across the breakfast nook from her.

Fia, her mouth full of brioche, examines you, frowning. “You look tired.”

You say that you had trouble sleeping last night.

“I think I must be working you too hard,” she says, but her teasing seems forced. Her alarm beeps and she gobbles the rest of her breakfast and rushes off to get ready for the day.

When she returns she’s transformed back into the barracuda, her pencil skirt and blouse tight and accessorised today with a cravat; her lipstick is that stark red colour that so struck you the first time you met her.

She kisses you with her bloody lips, grabs her briefcase and is gone.

The rest of the day passes slowly. You have a lot of time to ponder your relationship so far. It was a shock seeing Fia last night pleasuring herself, forced to satisfy herself after you’d failed so miserably. Of course she’d been eager to make love to you: it’s what people get married for, not just for children. Lovemaking breeds intimacy between a husband and wife. Loretta used to talk about it a lot, since your parents slept in separate rooms. 

You don’t want that to happen between you and Fia. You remember the forcefulness of her touch, the eagerness of her questing tongue in your mouth. Even when she’d been so frightening, she had smelled delicious, a different smell from before, a powerfully sexy one. 

You get hard thinking about her, but you leave yourself frustrated. Maybe it’s punishment for your failure. Anyway, you feel like it would be taking something for yourself which should be hers.

That night Fia returns early. You’re in the middle of your dinner preparations when she comes down the stairs.

She sees her beer waiting of her on the table and walks straight past it to where you’re deglazing the carrots in a pan. She embraces you from behind and starts kissing your neck, her breasts press against your back, enveloping you in her scent. Like last night, there’s a hint of perspiration that you find deeply exciting.

You almost burn yourself and Fia lets go of you, laughing. “I missed you,” she says.

You get dinner on the table. Fia is sitting on the couch. She’s taken off her pantihose and is massaging a foot raised up on the ottoman.

“Sorry,” she says as you walk in. “I know my feet are gross. They really hurt though. The floors of the boardroom are hard and I spent most of the day pacing them.”

You push aside the ottoman and kneel down in front of her, saying you want to help. Fia blinks.

“Are you sure? But my feet are still sweaty from... oh!”

You’re already cradling her right foot in your hands. It’s sweaty, like she said, but you don’t care. It’s her foot, after all: a surprisingly delicate foot and you quickly learn all about it as you get to work massaging it.

Fia sits back, moaning and grimacing as your fingers delve into her tight muscles. 

“Oh god. Why are you so good at this?”

You learned how to do it from a professional masseur, you explain. You mother insisted you take lessons, saying that it was an essential skill for a man to have.

“I think I need to kiss you mother when I see her next,” murmurs Fia, closing her eyes. “Yes. Just there.”

You do a good job. You’re eager to please her, especially after last night, and seeing her lying back and murmuring and moaning as your fingers dig into the tightness of her foot excites you. Fia bites her lip, her now dishevelled hair falling across her face as you get to work on a particularly stubborn knot. 

Once the foot is done you move on to the other. You cup her heel in your hands and bring your face closer, ostensibly deciding where best to begin, but really to sample the delicious scent of her feet. You’re embarrassed by the sudden desire to do so and try and conceal it by running of your knuckles across her arch.

Fia gasps and curls her toes and you can’t resist bringing your lips against her sole, then, and kissing it. 

Fia gasps again. “Hey, what are you doing?”

Caught, you go back to massaging her foot, your gaze lowered to hide your heated face. 

“No, do it again,” she says. “Please. I liked it.” 

Really? Feeling like a pervert, you bring your lips against her arch again. This time you poke the tip of your tongue against her skin, tasting the salt of her perspiration, and Fia moans. 

You kiss her again before turning your attention to her toes, which you kiss in turn. Fia starts to squirm. 

You kiss her big toe, flicking your tongue at her skin again since she enjoyed it so much when you did the same to her arch. Then you dip your tongue in between her big toe and the toe beside it. 

Fia gasps.

You feel a surge of excitement that your tongue is making her feel so good. You tease her, running your tongue across her toes, flicking underneath the first knuckle of each of them in turn. Fia squirms in agony but you hold onto her foot, not letting it get away, and slip her little toe fully into your mouth and suck on it.

Fia jerks her foot away with a yelp. While you’re still kneeling there in surprise, she leans down and pulls you up onto her lap. She brings her face to yours, her eyes hot and eager, but when your lips touch she hesitates. 

You reassure her by kissing her. It’s a soft, butterfly kiss just against her lips but it leaves Fia breathless. She kisses you back, harder. Her arms sweep around your neck and sighing you melt into her embrace.

Her kisses grow hotter. Her hair falls across your face, her tongue delving into your mouth as she caresses your chest and stomach through your shirt.

You’re more than excited now. You squirm with shame, knowing your hardness must be obvious to her. A moment later you feel her hand brush across your erection and she whispers against your lips.

“May I?”

You nod and she continues kissing you as her hand works at undoing your belt. She gets your belt off with little effort and then she unbuttons and unzips you and slips your pants and underwear down to your knees in a single impatient motion.

Fia draws her sticky lips from yours and glances down at your nakedness. “Wow. You’re bigger than I expected.” Her fingers touch you and your breath explodes out of you. “Are you really okay with this?”

You nod. The delight that speared through you when she touched you was incredible, but it’s nothing compared to how it feels now when her hands curl around your length and she strokes you once.

You cry out. Fia stops. “Oh, does it hurt?” she murmurs. “Maybe I should stop, then.”

You bury your face in her chest, not wanting to show her how excited you are. But Fia takes it as a no and she begins to tease you with slow and gentle strokes.

Small gasps burst from you and you start spilling out in your eagerness. Fia chuckles and runs her fingertips over the sensitive head and draws the stickiness there down along your length. The stroking is slick and easier now and you get harder and harder. Fia knows what’s she doing and she quickly learns what you like. 

How many times has she done this before, you wonder? You feel the hot sting of jealousy but it just as quickly disappears as pleasure wracks your body.

Her strokes become more fervent. Fia coaxes your face from her chest with coos and stroking of the hair then attacks your mouth again. The eager hot wetness of her tongue is too much for you and with a cry you reach the peak of your excitement. Hot shame fills you in equal measure with the most exquisite pleasure as you come. Fia’s hand grows sticky with your copious semen but she makes no move to stop stroking you, and you’re grateful for the fact. Pleasure flows over you with each stroke and you moan against her soft chest.

“Good boy,” says Fia. “You came a lot, didn’t you? You must have kept yourself for me all day. I’m very happy.” 

She continues to caress you as you go soft. Then she gets up and grabs a handful of tissues and wipes off her hands. She cleans you off next, humming happily. 

“Dinner will have to wait,” she says. “I think I need to give you a bath. I should have one too.” Her eyes are dark, her pupils large as she considers you from beneath her heavy lashes. “Shall we have one together? In the interests of conserving water?”

You nod. You feel sleepy after your orgasm and you feel like going to bed. But you feel guilty again, too. Fia was so attentive to your desire and you didn’t have a chance to properly finish your massage.

She pulls your pants and underwear off and helps you up from the sofa. You redden with embarrassment as she leads you, naked from the waist down, up the stairs to the bathroom.

“Just let me get the bath ready,” she says.

She disappears inside leaving you in the corridor. Water hisses. A few moments later the door opens again and Fia is standing there, a towel around her torso. She puts her hands on her hips, her face stern. 

“What are you doing? Get that top off!”

You do as she says. You begin to fold up your shirt but Fia grabs you and drags you into the bathroom.

The bath is huge, the size of a Jacuzzi. For all that talk of conserving water, it’s pouring out of a hidden faucet in the wall in a torrent. Steam fills the room. You take a step forward and yelp when Fia slaps you on your bare butt. 

“Hurry up, you!”

You pad across the chilly tiles, glad for the steam covering your nakedness. You have to clamber into the bath since the steps are hidden and as you slip into the water you gasp at how hot it is. 

There’s a gentle surge in the water as Fia herself gets in. She looms out of the steam and grabs you from behind, making you yelp again.

“Hehe. My husband’s a nervous little thing, isn’t he?”

She throws her arms around your neck and presses against you, her breasts, slick and hot, squashing against your back. Her lips, cool now in contrast to the heat of the steam and the water, run along the side of your neck. She murmurs happily as her hands slip along your ribs and down between your legs.

You gasp and panic that Fia might want you to get hard again. But she just whispers mollifying noises in your ear and gets to work washing you. Soon a loofa gets involved and she has you raise your arms so that she can clean under them with the strawberry scented foam.

“Strawberry is my favourite scent,” she whispers to you. “But it’s our little secret. I don’t know what the board would say if they knew the Barracuda had the taste of a ten year old girl. They’d probably see it as weakness. Some of them are out to get me, you know.” She sighs. “You’re the only thing keeping me together right now. I had no idea being married to you would make me so happy... so happy.”

Her words and the gentle touch of her washing bring a smile to your lips. You had no idea you’d be as happy as you are either. The scary barracuda of last night seems far away now.

You turn and hug Fia to you. She’s surprised by your sudden assertiveness and drops the loofa. You bring your face close to hers and tilt your head, gazing shyly up at her.

She knows what you want. She kisses you, gentle at first, but then the barracuda in her comes back and she kisses you harder. With her breasts against your chest now you’re amazed at how big they are. Growing up with your sisters you’ve only seen bare breasts that were modest in size. Fia’s are large but firm with only the slightest of heaviness to them. In the bath her pale body has turned a bright glistening pink, but her hard nipples are pinker still.

Fia breaks the kiss, gasping. “Uh, we really need to finish washing you.” 

She has you stand up and turn around so that she can get to work washing your stomach, butt and thighs. She giggles as she gently pats the loofa between your legs.

“This spot needs some extra attention, I think.”

You’re covered in foam from the stomach down after lying in the water and you’re glad of the modesty it gives you. But the smooth warmth of Fia’s body pressed against yours and her teasing with the loofa soon gets you hard again. 

Fia says nothing but keeps washing you as if nothing has happened. She takes a plastic basin and sluices clear water over you revealing your glistening nakedness. She reaches over and takes you in her hand, stroking your already hard length.

“I’m a lucky woman,” she murmurs as she leans forward and slips her lips over the head.

Your legs go weak and you shiver as a never-before experience pleasure spears through you. Fia makes you sit back on the edge of the bath as she slips her lips further down your shaft. She’s able to get most of you in her mouth and the feeling of slick heat is excruciatingly pleasurable. 

Fia notices your balls tightening and she slows down, but it’s already too late. You stammer out a warning just as you start coming in her mouth. Even while being overwhelmed with pleasure you try and push her away, concerned that she’ll be disgusted, but Fia grasps your hips and keeps her mouth glued to you as waves of semen jet into her mouth. She mutters happily, her throat moving as she swallows.

Your hands clutch the edge of the bath as Fia’s sucking leaves you shuddering, scarcely believing the intensity of the delicious sensations spilling over you. Fia swallows the last of your semen and pops you out of her mouth to lick at the small amount pooling on the tip.

“And I just cleaned this,” she complains, pouting. She sweeps a small dab of semen at the corner of her mouth with her tongue and then retrieves the loofa and goes back to washing you between the legs as you soften. She gazes up at you. “This thing isn’t going to get hard again, is it? I think I’ve probably had my daily intake of protein already.”

Although still dazed by your climax, you’re coherent enough to try and apologise for coming so quickly.

Fia snorts. “You really don’t know anything about girls, do you? I’m flattered you came so quick. I think you might be getting used to me.”

She finishes washing you and you slip down gratefully back into the water. She applies some more bath foam to the loofa and glances at you. “I need to wash myself, but maybe...” She holds out the loofa towards you, dropping her gaze in uncharacteristic embarrassment. “I don’t know. Maybe you’d like to...”

You nod and take the loofa. It’s your job, after all, to attend to your wife’s needs. She watches you as you glide through the water to her and tentatively place the foamy loofa against one arm. Fia stretches her arm out and you soap the length of it, followed by her other arm. Then she lifts them and you give her armpits attention. After that you hesitate, but she takes the end of the loofa and guides it onto her chest.

Your heart racing, you slide the loofa over her breasts, coating them in white foam. 

“Don’t forget to wash between them,” says Fia. “It gets pretty sweaty there.” 

After she feels that you’ve given them enough attention she turns around and you soap the beautiful expanse of her back. 

Fia looks over her shoulder. “I need to wash the rest of myself now, but if you’re too embarrassed, I can do it myself.”

You shake your head, your heart pumping hard in your chest. Pleased, Fia smiles and slowly eases herself up out of the water. Some foam sticks to her, covering her sex but her flat stomach, wide hips and generous thighs are all bare, glistening and pink. You quickly apply foam to her long legs, shyly going higher until you’re washing her thighs and lower stomach.

When she’s happy with the job you’ve done to her front, Fia turns around, kneels forward in the water and stretches her torso over the edge of the bath. You know what is expected of you. You dab foam over the back of her legs and the curve of her buttocks but then stop. Fia looks back at you, pouting.

“Don’t be so bashful,” she says. “I washed you properly, right?”

The blush thankfully invisible on your already bath-hot skin, you dab the loofa between Fia’s legs again, washing her properly this time. Once you’re finished she remains lying there and you realise you’ve forgotten to rinse her. You pour the water over her, the foam sliding from her body.

You planned on averting your eyes, but curiosity gets the better of you and you gaze at the naked beauty of your wife. From behind, Fia’s sex is surprisingly puffy, pink, the inner lips discrete. 

Suddenly she flips over and you fall back onto your bottom with a splash. A mocking grin burst onto her face. “I could feel your eyes burning into me. Did you get a good look?”

You shake your head, unable to meet her gaze, but Fia just laughs. She’s sitting up on the edge of the bath now, leaning back on her elbows, considering you with glittering eyes. She parts her legs and crooks a finger at you.

Swallowing, you sit there staring at her.

“You’re curious, right? Why don’t you have a good look then?”

When you’re too bashful to make a move, Fia grabs your hand with an impatient snort and pulls you forward onto your knees. She lets go of your hand and leans back. With your face level with the edge of the bath, you can see everything. Her pubic hair is dark, neatly trimmed.

“I like to stay natural,” she murmurs without a trace of embarrassment. “I hope you don’t mind. Shaving it all off is too itchy and makes me feel like a little kid.”

You don’t understand why she’d think you’d mind. Grown-up women are supposed to have hair there, right? Blushing, you watch as she parts her lips with her fingers. Fia’s fingers flutter light across her pinkening sex. She’s glistening there, an even deeper pink than the rest of her bath-hot body. 

She’s getting excited just by having you look at her.

Last night pushes itself into your mind. Fia, lying back on the sofa, her hand in her underpants, her fingers deep within her, relieving the tension you left her with.

Swallowing, you place your hands against her inner thighs and lean forward between her legs.

Fia’s eyes flash open. “Hey, what are you...?”

One night you lay outside Loretta’s door eavesdropping as she and Genevieve, her best friend at the time, talked in hushed whispers about all sorts of female secrets. One had been what they liked getting their boyfriends to do to them. In a few minutes of graphic, giggling description you’d learned far more than the textbook your parents gave you had been able to teach you.

Now you have the chance to put it into practice. Eager to please her, you kiss the inside of Fia’s thighs with little butterfly kisses, the pink skin hot moist and taut against your lips. You flick the tip of your tongue across her skin then, trailing a lazy meander up towards her sex. The scent of her is incredible, deep and spicy, an intoxication more than a scent, and you feel the nerves along your spine from the base of your neck to your penis tingling in excitement. 

Fia moans. Striving to stay still, her hands grip the edge of the bath. She opens her legs wider and you decide that teasing her any more would be shameful. You run your hands further up her thighs and touch her for the first time with your fingertips. Fia yelps and you pull your hands away, but she quickly grabs them and puts them back.

“Sorry,” she breathes. “It’s just... it’s been a long time since anyone has touched me there.”

The truth of her words is obvious. Her sex is swollen, sticky with her desire. Trembling, you part her lips and kiss the top where that hard little button is.

Fia shudders and you have to hold on to her thighs to keep your mouth in place. Her reaction gives you confidence and you move forward and lick the same spot. 

So this is what a woman tastes like. Salty and savoury and utterly delicious.

Fia’s entwines the fingers of both hands in your hair and she pulls you closer, keeping your head in place between her legs as you start licking her in earnest.

You do your best to pleasure her, alternating between licking long licks and short flicks of the tongue with caresses of your lips, just like you remember Loretta’s friend saying she preferred. Fia seems no different. The velvet skin against your lips and mouth grows hotter and more slick and the erotic fragrance enveloping you deepens. Fia is quivering now like she’s being tortured, but she still keeps your face locked between her legs. And yet the hands holding your head are gentle: if you wanted to pull away you know you could. But there’s no way you’re going to stop until you’ve fully satisfied her.

It doesn’t take long. Fia soon cries out, her feet lifting out of the water, her toes curling. She trembles, trapping your head between her thighs as you keep licking at her. Her juices are flowing from her now, their flavour overpowering.

Fia shudders a final time and then her body goes slack, releasing you. You fall back gasping in the foamy water and Fia slides in after you. Her eyes are dazed, half-closed, but she still manages to throw her arms around your neck and pepper your startled face with kisses.

She lays back then and pulls you backwards onto her lap, continuing to hug you, only now from behind. Your head rests back against the slick softness of her breasts. The foam in the bath has started to thin and the steam is clearing as the water cools, the sink and other parts of the bathroom looming back into existence like a landscape appearing out of dissolving mist. You realise your mind is wandering and Fia seems about to fall asleep as well. She cuddles you to her.

“I can’t remember it ever being like that,” she murmurs at last. “Are you sure that’s the first time you’ve ever done it?” You nod. She squeezes you tight. “Huh. Just a natural, I guess. And you looked so sexy, your butt sticking out of the water and wiggling about. I think seeing that was what finally drove me over the edge.” She sighs. “The water’s going to get cold. We can get out if you like.”

You tell her you want to stay in here with her a little longer.

“Heh. Me too. I guess I just love water. I am a barracuda, after all.”

The two of you laze together in the water until it grows cold. You feel content, safe and loved, overjoyed that you were able to please her so well. The tension that had existed between the two seems far away, now.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so tense,” she says as if reading your mind. “I... things have been a bit challenging with the company recently.”

She opens up, then, about what’s been happening with the takeover of Lunghezza Motori. You don’t understand a lot of the business terminology she uses, even though she’s obviously trying to keep things simple for you, but you get the gist: her takeover of the company is not going well. Lunghezza Motori has drawn on an unexpected source of funds to defend itself against the buyout by initiating a takeover of Fia’s own company.

“It’s called the Pacman defence,” she says. “I don’t know whether you’ve ever played the videogame. The one with the little yellow guy and the ghosts?”

You tell her you know the game. Loretta loves playing old games and she’s often shown off her prowess to you.

“Old?” Fia gasps and squeezes you, but relents just as quickly and snuggles you instead. “Yeah, I guess it is an old game. Well, you know how when Pacman eats a pill he can turn on those ghosts that have been trying to get him? Well, that’s what Lunghezza Motori is doing. They’ve swallowed a pill and I’m trying to find out where they got it. But in our game ghosts can swallow pills as well, and it’s just a race now to see who can eat the biggest one.’

So Fia could lose her company? You turn around and glimpse the worry on her face in the split second before she masks it with a grin.

“No chance,” she says. “Gobbling things up is my forte, after all.” She snaps her teeth at you and you shy away in mock terror, laughing. Her face grows sultry. “You have to be careful being married to a barracuda. They’ll try and gobble you up when you least expect it.” She drops a hand between your legs and grabs you. You yelp and try to squirm away but she wraps her free arm around your torso and holds you back. You manage to slip free and it becomes a splashing match as Fia chases you laughing around the bath. Soon you’re wrestling, then the holds become embraces and you kiss until your lips are bruised and the bath water turns cold.


	3. Chapter 3

After all the talk of dreading Quinn’s party, Fia is in high spirits as she drives the two of you in the Vespertine along the ocean road to Costa Graziosa. Behind the wheel Fia always acts so free and joyful, as though her complete concentration on controlling the vehicle strips every other concern from her. You’ve often seen the same look on her face when she pleasures you. You blush and turn to look out the side window at the great glittering bowl of the bay swing past. 

“Are you blushing again?” asks Fia, barely contained glee in her voice.

The last few days have been peaceful, happy ones in your new home. You’ve organised everything as you like it and become familiar with every nook and cranny of the huge apartment. Cooking and cleaning keeps you busy but you still have a lot of time to yourself and you spend it reading books from Fia’s voluminous library and waiting for her to come home. 

The joy that swells up in you when you hear or see her helicopter has become addictive and you always bounce up the stairs eager to greet her and take her briefcase from her. Then it’s dinner and usually some drinks or music on the balcony (Fia likes jazz) and then a long, luxuriant bath, the anticipation of which has your heart racing. For as Fia leads you up the stairs to the second floor, undoing the buttons of her blouse one-handed, you know that the exquisite pleasure of her mouth and hands is waiting for you among the fragrant foam and billowing steam of the bath. You’ve learned more and more about what she likes as well, and it’s with blissful exhaustion that the two of you share your bed. Sometimes, Fia wakes you in the middle of the night and you love each other again, but usually she sleeps through, lying on her back like a starfish and snoring lustily.

Fia glances at you. “I think I know why you’re blushing,” she says. “Remembering something nice?”

You say nothing but feel your face grow hotter. Your eyes remain glued to the bay. It’s quite far to Quinn’s villa. 

Fia’s hand slides across your back. “If we weren’t running late I’d stop this car and peel you out of that suit with my teeth,” she says, snapping at you. You shy away, your usual game, and when you look back Fia’s eyes are already back on the road. 

She looks so beautiful. She’s done her chestnut up in a Dutch braid, and along with her judiciously applied makeup and her little black dress she looks every part of the corporate heavyweight at play. Her lipstick is an especially dark red tonight, and you know Fia has gone all out to outdo someone.

It can only be Quinn on her mind. She implied as much when she dressed you in your newly-tailored suit:

“You look perfect,” she said, sitting back and admiring her handiwork with hungry eyes. “Quin’ll choke on her martini.” Her face grew suddenly serious. “You watch out for that Quinn, okay? And her friends and their fancy-boys, too.” You must have looked nervous, for Fia scooped you up in her arms then. “Don’t worry. You’ll have a big mean barracuda looking out for you.”

The sun is setting when you arrive at Costa Graziosa. The long, white gravel driveway leads up to a Tuscan-style villa with redbrick walls and arches. You can hear the noise of the party even before you’re close enough to see the dark shapes of the mingling guests against the numerous sconces with their open flames.

A tall, elegant young man dressed in a dark suit gestures to Fia with a sweeping motion of his hand to stop nearby. As Fia switches off the motor and undoes her seatbelt you see him say something to a bob-haired young boy dressed in black jeans and a collared shirt. The boy nods and hops up the stairs and into the villa proper.

Fia helps you out of the car and hands the keys to the valet. “Be careful,” she says to him with a wink. “She bites.”

Fia takes your arm. The boy in the jeans returns with a tall, exquisitely attired woman in tow. 

It’s Quinn. 

You had no idea she was so tall. Of course, you’d only seen her on the wallscreen. In person she’s easily a head above the boy at her side. She’s even taller than Fia is, and FIa is not a short woman by any means.

“Fia!” she cries, gliding swiftly down the steps from the veranda to embrace her. Fia awkwardly pats her on the back and mutters her own greeting. Then Quinn turns to you. Her eyes rove up and down you as they did that morning through the wallscreen. “And of course, your handsome hubby.” She takes your hand and brings it to her lips. “I’m so glad Fia let you out to play. You’ve been the subject of rather a lot of the conversation tonight.”

Fia arches her eyebrows and Quinn drops your hand at last. “Ha! Well, I suppose it has something to do with all the secrecy. But I can understand it, seeing him in that suit.” She leans down and whispers in your ear, “You’re a bit too cute for your own good. I’d suggest not getting too close to any of the single women here tonight. They’re likely to sweep you off your feet and abduct you.”

Fia takes hold of your arm. “Don’t scare him, Quinn.” She turns to you. “She’s just joking.”

Quinn laughs, her hand covering her mouth in a rehearsed gesture. “I am sorry. The second time to meet and I’ve already frightened the young man twice.” She takes Fia’s hand. “Let’s go press the flesh, Fia. My aide Haru will look after hubby.” She nods to the bob-haired boy who has been politely waiting the whole time. “You have to let him off the leash sometime, no?”

As she pulls Fia away, your wife flashes her eyes at you. It’s a warning, you realise, and you take to heart all of the instructions she gave you on the drive here. Quinn’s friends are the movers and shakers of the financial world and there might even be some members of the government and the aristocracy present. You stand there, feeling forlorn and more than a little nervous as Fia has a drink shoved into her hand and disappears amongst the crowd.

But then Haru is beside you. Close up he seems a little older than a boy, around eighteen or nineteen you guess. His bob-cut makes him look younger and his large eyes and delicate features are pretty rather than handsome. His olive skin and glossy black hair shines in the firelight as he grins at you, extending his hand. As you shake it he introduces himself. 

“I’m Haru de Sousa, Quinn’s aide.” He laughs. “Well, she calls me an aide but I’m really her secretary and personal assistant and prank-target all wrapped up into one.” 

You like him immediately. You introduce yourself, then, and he shakes his head, chuckling. “I don’t think there’s a single person here that doesn’t know everything about you already. You’re all people have been talking about, like Quinn said.”

You flush at the thought of being the centre of conversation. Haru places a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Anything new and different gets all the big dogs excited. Just smile and nod at everyone. It’s what I do.”

Haru leads you up the steps and into the foyer after Quinn and Fia. There are mostly wait-staff milling here with a few guests and you soon have a glass of champagne thrust into one hand and a canapé into the other. You sample it. The caviar is exquisite: the little eggs burst with salt and the sea without a single hint of fishiness. 

Haru finishes his own and licks a slender finger. ”Come on, I’ll introduce you to the others.” He scoops a glass of champagne from a waiter’s tray as he leads you along a wisteria-covered colonnade to a terrace open to the sky, the red tiles a field of lava in the firelight of the glowing sconces. The party seems to be centred here round a bottom-lit pool and as you step out into the light many of the guests glance up at you. Having so many eyes turned in your direction you’re deeply embarrassed and unable to stop yourself from blushing .

“Hey,” Haru murmurs to you as he grabs your arm to bustle you off to one side. “Try and keep that blush under control. I don’t want to have to beat the women off you with a stick. They can smell innocence and it drives them crazy.” His teasing smile seems to indicate he’s joking, but you can’t be sure.

You do as he says. Your eyes scan the crowd for Fia and you spot her off to one side. Quinn and two other women are talking to her and you notice her glancing about as well in between polite smiles and snippets of conversation. You resist the urge to wave to her but she spots you anyway. She smiles and winks at you and you feel a bit more confident. 

You need every bit of that new confidence as Haru sweeps you into a small group of men and starts introducing you in a whirlwind.

You’re enveloped in hugs and kissed on the cheek multiple times. The crowd is mostly made up of the husbands and partners of the women present but there are also a few personal assistants like Haru and other more nebulous individuals who describe themselves as ‘friends’. Every age is represented, but there seem to be more people your own age and younger present.

One of the older men, after leaving his champagne tottering on the edge of a potted aloe, embraces you and kisses you twice on each cheek with his well-tended silvery moustache.

“So the Barracuda finally found herself a mate, did she?” He pulls away and looks you over. “You’re a braver man than any of us here, lad.”

The others laugh and you blush. It doesn’t sound like unkind laughter to you. The silver-haired man introduces himself as Constantin, the husband of Milana Zagotta, the ex-minister of finance. He notices your drink is half-finished and he frowns and claps at a waiter to bring you a fresh one before knocking his own over into the aloe as he tries to reclaim it.

Another man Haru introduced to you as Lanzo, a little older than you with glistening charcoal skin beneath his white suit, grabs your hands, his dark, liquid eyes insistent. “We’re all dying to know and I’m just going to come out and ask it so please don’t be mad. Is she really as scary as they say?”

You shake your head. Fia is very kind and gentle, you tell them, and she treats you really well.

Lanzo lets go of your hands. He nods, his smile uncertain. “Is that so?”

There’s murmuring among the others.

“It must be nice living out at Giada,” says a pale-skinned young man with freckles and the slightest hint of an English accent, one of the ‘friends’ whose name you’ve already forgotten. “Mine has me holed up in Castel Rosso. It’s so goddamn boring. Worried about me running off with some other woman I guess.” He arches his eyebrows over his drink. “Well, she’s right to be worried.”

Laughter amongst the men. You politely join in.

Soon you’ve been initiated into the million little jokes and personal intrigues of the group. Everyone seems eager to get to know you although every second question is about your relationship with Fia. It seems that everyone was just as surprised as Quinn to have learned that Fia had gotten married.

“Well, I expected someone taller.”

“Me too!”

“So she likes them cute, huh?”

“Cute just means young, right?” A hand on your arm. “You almost look underaged.”

“You’re safe then, you dried-up old bitch.”

“I never would have picked the Barracuda as being the maternal type.”

Your eyes flick from one guest to another. Haru freshens up your drink. You can’t remember how many you’ve had now. You’ve been drinking to fight off your nervousness and it seems to have helped. Despite all the questions and teasing you’re enjoying yourself. 

“Uh oh,” says Haru suddenly. “Looks like you’re wanted.” He flicks his eyes towards the pool and you see Quinn waving at you. Fia is beside her, frowning, and there’s another woman, an older one you noticed earlier. Constantin’s wife you think, the ex-minister of finance? Milana was her name?

“So this is the young man we’ve been hearing so much about,” says Milana as soon as you’re close. She takes your hand in her bony one and raises it to her lips, at the same time considering you with her watery blue eyes. 

Fia introduces you to her. You smile and exchange some pleasantries, blushing under her sharp gaze as its slices up and down across your body.

She strokes the skin of your fingers with her thumb twice before she drops your hand and nods. She turns a bright girlish smile at Fia.

“Quite the catch,” she murmurs. “Very easy on the eyes and from such a good family, too.” She leans close to you, the scent of her perfume thick. “You might not know this, but I’ve met your mother the Contessa on a number of occasions. Impressive woman, very impressive.”

You smile and nod, pleased to hear your mother praised.

“So has he been acquitting himself of his husbandly duties?” Milana asks Fia. “He looks like he’d be a warm little thing to wrestle with. And such nice lips, too. Reminds me of Constantin at his peak.”

Fia chuckles, but it’s forced. She raises her drink to her lips and glances over you. Milana slips an arm around your waist and after taking you aside asks you a number of questions. You stammer in your nervousness and look over at Fia for help. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Milana whispers to you. “I’m not going to spirit you away or anything, although I’d love to display you around the house. It’s a shame Fia keeps you so hidden away. Well, the Barracuda is jealous of her new treasure and I can understand that. Still, touching does no harm, does it?” She runs her fingers, hidden from the view of the others, along your ribs. “You should ask some of the boys what the benefits of experience are. If you ever get sick of being nibbled on by a barracuda, you’re most welcome to drop by for tea.”

Fia, with Quinn trailing her, catches up with you and Milana starts talking as though you’re in the middle of a completely unrelated conversation. After a few more questions she releases you. 

Other women come up and Quinn soon swamps you with introductions as Fia looks on. You barely remember anyone’s name by the end of it, your hand and cheek smeared with lipstick and your body aching with a few well-placed pinches. A number of the women, with Fia distracted, proposition you and you’re relieved when Haru finally comes to your rescue.

“Hey,” he jokes to Quinn. “You’re wearing the poor guy out. Let him come and recharge with us." He leads you away to where the men are standing. 

“You did well out there,” says Lanzo. “That Gallacci woman has a real slimy hand, doesn’t she?”

“You really don’t want to know what she’s like in bed,” murmurs the pale-skinned boy with the freckles, whose name you now know is Etienne.

Haru arches his eyebrows. “You’ve had sex with her?”

“I still don’t know if what we did can precisely be called sex,” he replies. He downs his drink and scoops another off the tray of nearby waiter.

The party goes on. You see little of Fia. Soon the flickering firelights take on halos and you realise you’re drunk. You need to go to the bathroom and so you ask a waiter where it is. With a thin smile he indicates a door in the hazy distance.

You step carefully, trying not to trip on the tile-work. The bathroom seems a long way from the pool. After a few wrong turns you find it. It’s exquisitely fitted and it takes you a while to work out how to use the sink since there’s no tap or faucet. Instead the water bubbles from beneath your hands.

On the way back you turn a corner and come face to face with Quinn. She’s standing next to a vase of flowers and is toying with them. She turns and arches her eyebrows at you. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, drawing her slender fingers away from the flowers. “I really can’t stand it when people mess with my arrangements.” She inclines her head, indicating for you to come over to her. “Do you know anything about flower arranging?”

You shake your head. You know it’s a traditional Japanese art form called ikebana but you’ve never had the opportunity to learn anything about it. You’re aware of the meaning of each of the flowers in the western tradition, but apart from that...

Quinn snorts. “You can’t really call the western style flower ‘arranging’. It’s more a case of shoving as many flowers into a pot as you can fit. In ikebana the gaps are just as, if not more, important than the positioning of the flowers.”

She takes your hand and draws you beside her.

“Do you see how this branch of cherry blossom only has a few flowers? Some were still budding when it was cut. Left to bloom and covered in blossoms it would be unwieldy, flashy, ugly. As it is, the scarcity of the blooms is what makes it beautiful.”

Quinn is right. It is beautiful.

“And the white lily here helps balance the arrangement with a bit of lightness. Without it, the whole thing would look too stark, austere. Also, notice the peacock anemone? I know purists might complain about my placing an Italian wildflower with traditional Japanese flowers, but it’s supposed to represent my combined parentage.” She turns her dark eyes to you. “Also, I just think they’re pretty. I’ve always had a weakness for pretty things.”

She lifts a hand to your cheek and then leans forward and kisses you. You try to move away but she pulls you flush against her with surprising strength. The tip of her tongue pushes at your lips and when you gasp it slips into your mouth, hot and wet. 

You struggle but Quinn’s embrace is inexorable. She draws her free hand along your back and up into your hair, entwining her fingers in it. You go slack, defeated. At last she has her fill of you and lets you go. You stand there, gasping, staring at her.

Quinn sweeps a finger across a glistening trail of saliva at the edge of her mouth left from your kiss and places her finger in her mouth. She grabs your chin again and wipes at your lips with a thumb.

“Lipstick,” she murmurs. “Can’t have the Barracuda seeing that, can we?” She runs a finger down your neck and pinches the point where Fia bit you that first night together. “She might have marked you, but now I’ve marked you, too. And my mark can’t be seen.” 

She places a hand on your bottom “No telling now, yes? Nothing to tell, anyway. Just a thank-you kiss to the kind host for inviting you to her party.”

With a gentle push she propels you down the corridor.

You stumble out into the foyer. Quinn has disappeared in another direction. Your heart races. Fia. You hope she doesn’t see your blushing face. There: the back of her head, those braided chestnut locks. She’s talking with some women whose names you can’t remember. You turn the other way, take a few unsteady steps and immediately collide with someone.

Constantin.

“Ah, here’s our boy!” he says, sweeping an arm around you. “Finally got free of all those clutching claws, did we?” 

You mutter something about having gone to the bathroom and Constantin laughs. “It’s just over there, you know, on the other side of the foyer.” He draws closer, his breath hot with liquor. “No need to prevaricate with me lad.” He drags you from the others with a wink. “Just going to have a friendly chat.”

Haru shrugs but there’s hardness in his dark eyes for you. Guilt flares up inside your chest and you turn away, hiding the flush that’s come to your face.

“Blushing again?” Constantin laughs. “She must have been good. Who was it? Fiore Izzo? That Sanseverino woman? The dark-eyed Spanish venture capitalist? I don’t see them around. Wait. Surely not our lady host?” He notices your deepening blush and whistles. “She’s always liked playing with fire, that one. But then, it’s just a continuation of her rivalry with your wife.”

Rivalry? But you thought they were friends.

“In business, not that I know anything about business mind you, the word ‘friend’ has a slightly more expansive definition - and that’s ignoring the ‘friends’ that some of the ladies have brought with them tonight.” Constantin’s cheerful face goes dark. “Another word of advice, lad. Be careful around them. They’re as much predators as the women. Here.” He slips his arm from around your shoulders and grabs two new drinks and shoves one into your hand, splashing your sleeve as it foams over.

You tell him you’ll be careful.

Constantin looks at you. Is there pity in his eyes? If so, the pity is soon replaced by cheerful crinkling as he grins at you and claps you on the back. “Good lad.”

You ask him how Fia and Quinn met as you wipe the sticky overflow of your drink off your sleeve.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “But I know they went to school together.” He draws you closer, whispering. “Look, you’re new to the whole game, and that’s what it all is: a game. A game played in beds as much as it is in boardrooms. Try not to take too much of it too heart - you won’t last, otherwise. Just put on a grin like this-” He points to his own. “-and be as agreeable as possible. Our wives are under stress every moment of every day, and the only time they get off is when they’re alone with us. We've an important job.” 

His voice grows lower. “Look, the first time you catch her with someone, try not to make a big deal out of it. All powerful women are like that. It’s not a criticism of you. It’s just the way things are.” The glimmer of pain in his eyes belies his grin. “That’s the secret to a happy marriage. Knowing when to look the other way.”

“Are you boring the poor boy, Constantin?” Milana has appeared beside you in her cloud of perfume. You glance about at the other women who have appeared and Fia is among them. You gently free yourself from Constantin and join your wife by her side. She slips her arm around your waist, pushing your hips together and whispers in your ear.

“Miss me?” 

You nod. With her arm around you, you feel safe. Even when Quinn appears you’re able to smile and keep your heart from racing. You know the Barracuda will keep you safe from her.

“Have you been enjoying yourself?” asks Quinn, smiling. It’s a pleasant smile all the more sinister for its complete lack of even the slightest hint of mockery. “I have a request to make of you. Your wife has been telling everyone how well you play the piano. Would you play for us?”

There’s hooting and clapping and you realise you’ve become the centre of attention again. You nod, your eyes glued to the ground as you smile shyly.

Fia kisses you on the cheek and pats your bottom as Quinn leads the party inside. The baby grand lies on the other side of the entertainment room from the mini bar and many of the guests seat themselves there. You sit yourself on the stool and decide what you should play. You’re suddenly nervous, and you glance across the milling people. Quinn has positioned herself close by and Fia comes to stand beside her. Constantin lifts his drink to you and winks.

You take a deep breath and start to play.

\--------------

The applause dies away. Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in G minor is always a crowd pleaser, and with its intricate finger-work, the mistakes you made are not likely to have been noticed by non-players. 

Fia beams at you, but the smile drops from her face when Quinn steps up and helps you from the stool, taking both your hands in hers as she pours effusive praise over you. You soon find yourself swept into an involved conversation about music and art with Milana, Quinn, Fia and a number of other women. Fia keeps close to you but she doesn’t stop Quinn from constantly touching your hand and arm as she asks you questions and laughs at your timid jokes.

Your heart is flushed with pride as you make your way to the bathroom. But your bladder is bursting since it took you a long while to extricate yourself from the conversation.

As you relieve yourself you notice the tiled walls are sliding. You realise then just how much you’ve had to drink.

After fumbling with the faucet you wash your hands but manage to splash water all over your shirt in the process. You grab one of the white fluffy white hand towels from the pile and try to soak up the worst of it when you hear voices approaching. You slip out of the bathroom and around the corner behind a potted cypress, not wanting to be caught looking an utter fool.

You’re still there, dabbing at your shirt when you hear faucets flowing and the tail-end of a conversation.

“...seemed pretty impressed.” It’s Lanzo’s voice.

“He made a few mistakes,” replies Haru. “But I guess all that blushing stopped anyone else noticing.”

Lanzo yowls like a cat then laughs. “Feeling threatened?”

“Why? He’s the barracuda’s. Besides, he’s no Etienne. I think the guy’s still a virgin, actually.”

Lanzo snorts. “Not likely. The barracuda would have ridden him ragged straight after the wedding, right? Anyway, you better pray he’s no virgin.”

Anger. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Shit, dude. You know better than anyone else what Quinn’s like.”

There’s the sound of a body being thrust hard against tiles. “Don’t talk about her like that!”

“Okay, okay man.” Silence. “Jesus. You’re a real prick when you drink, you know that?”

Nervous laughter from Haru. “Yeah. I know. Sorry.”

“No. No, it’s my fault. Digging up hurtful shit like a little bitch. I deserved it.” A sigh. “You have to feel sorry for the guy, though.”

“Why?”

“Well, how would you like to get sold off?”

Haru laughs. “Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s almost medieval, don’t you think? They get the money, she gets the name.”

“The name’s just money,” says Haru. “You know that, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Now that she’s Fia Collatini she’s an aristocrat. The name's opened up access to the bankers of the Savoys. They don’t deal with commoners. Why do you think Milana bothered to come tonight? Fia’s got a lot more leverage now thanks to Mister Blushing Virgin.”

“Did Quinn tell you this?”

“Yeah. She knows Fia doesn’t like relying on her capital exclusively. Their history and all that.”

“So it’s all just about money, huh?”

Haru sighs. “What isn’t?”

A pause. “Do you think he loves her?”

“You’ve seen how he looks at her? Course he does. Poor bastard.”

You fold up your handtowel, toss it behind the cypress and slink away. 

\---------

When you join the men again you’re met with grins and hugs. Your chest aches but you put on a smile and laugh at their good-natured joking. You have a few more drinks, eager to purge the worst of the pain of the revelation.

Fia. She married you just so she could access more capital to pour into her takeover of Lunghezza Motori? And yet, the way she kisses you...

...well, that sort of thing can be faked, right? Especially if it’s all a game.

You drive such thoughts away. Fia told you to be careful at the party. This is just the sort of thing she was talking about. It’s likely all lies and they’re just taking advantage of your naivety.

The party continues. Lanzo sings operetta to uproarious applause. Fia and Quinn and Milana remain glued together in their own little world. Constantin gives you more advice. The other boys make you a co-conspirator in numerous intrigues. Haru tries to teach you how to juggle, but it would have been impossible even if you weren’t drunk.

In the middle of a conversation Etienne starts fanning his face with a hand. “Wow, is it hot here or is it just me?”

“It’s the sirocco,” says Lanzo with a chuckle. “Also, you are hot.”

Etienne glances at him coquettishly and then starts to unbutton his shirt. You laugh, wondering what new game this is they're playing. 

“C’mon, time for a swim,” Lanzo says to you as he tears off his own jacket and flings it aside.

But you didn’t bring a swimming costume...

Etienne rolls his eyes. “Who needs one? You can wear your underwear if you like, but please, whatever you do, don’t start blushing.”

Lanzo is already stripped to the waist and he comes and starts helping you out of your clothes. You glance across at the women in a panic. Everyone is watching. Quinn winks at you. 

Where’s Fia? She’s standing next to Milana not far away. Your eyes meet hers and she shrugs, mouthing something like ‘go ahead’ before turning away. 

Well, if Fia is okay with it...

Etienne is naked now, his pale body like moonlight. He runs and leaps into the pool with a splash that sends a glittering plume of water into the air. There’s a cheer from the women, followed by enthusiastic clapping. 

Lanzo pulls your now-unbuttoned shirt off you and starts to undo your belt, but you blush and take over from him. Can you really get naked in front of all these women? But it’s just playing around, after all. Nothing serious.

Shivering with the cool and with nervousness, you slip your pants down and off, leaving yourself in just your underwear. You notice that Lanzo and Haru are both naked now. Lanzo’s hands are firm and warm as he draws them down your sides before hooking his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and pulling them straight down. 

You gasp but you have no other time to react to your sudden nakedness. Haru and Lanzo propel you over to the pool and you leap in together.

The water is not as cold as you expected, but you're gasping when you surface from the surprise anyway. The water foams about you as you push wet locks of your hair out of your eyes. You kick your legs, treading water.

Haru takes your hand and smiles at you. “I forgot to warn you - this is sort of a tradition at Quinn’s parties,” he says. “Etienne always starts it off. It’s just a chance to show off for the girls.”

The water is lit from below with multi-coloured lights and your glistening bodies change colour with the shifting light. You flush with shame but also excitement, all the alcohol you’ve drunk lending you a surge of naughty confidence. When Lanzo starts splashing you, you laugh and splash him back.

The women watch, laughing and cheering at your little mock battles. Lanzo and Haru gang up upon Etienne and give him a sound dunking. He surfaces gasping, his hair streaming, and he throws himself on Haru and starts wrestling him.

A chant has started up among the women.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Your eyes scour the excited crowd. Fia is there among them. She isn’t looking in your direction and is drinking. 

When you turn back Etienne's hand is cupping Haru’s chin. Haru’s eyes are elsewhere, scanning the crowd. He’s looking for Quinn.

You follow his gaze. Quinn is clapping and cheering in encouragement. 

Haru closes his eyes. And then Etienne is kissing him. 

The kiss is wet and goes on for a long time. At last Etienne breaks the kiss and the crowd screams in delight. Etienne waves at them and then swims over to Lanzo. The two embrace. You swim back against the side of the pool, staring at the two of them hungrily kissing, still not believing what’s happening, and so you don’t notice Haru until he’s right beside you. He takes your hand as he treads water beside you.

The chant changes.

“New boy! New boy! New boy!”

Haru lays a water-cool hand against your chest. His eyes are dark, sad, excited. “Have you ever kissed another boy before?”

You shake your head.

“It’s just like kissing a girl,” he says. “The women like it. Are you okay with it?”

You look out across the crowd. A nervous hush has fallen over them. Every eye is on you.

Every eye except Fia’s. She’s staring out across your heads at the moonlit sea behind you.

Fia.

Well, it’s all a game, isn’t it?

You close your eyes. You feel Haru’s breath against your lips. It smells sweet. What will it be like to kiss another boy? Is it really just like kissing a girl, like kissing Fia?

He throws his arms around your neck and his lips brush across yours. A shout spreads across the crowd. Then someone grabs you from underneath your armpits and your lips are torn away from Haru’s as they pull you ungently from the water.

“Get your clothes on,” Fia hisses at you. “We’re going home.”

\---------

Fia keeps her eyes on the darkened road. She’s driving fast and the scattered streetlights streak past like comets. Then you’re swallowed up in the dark of the forest and there’s no one else in the world, nothing else, except for the car with you and Fia in it.

And yet Fia says nothing. The silence is leaden and every time you find the courage to say something, to break that silence, the words stick in your throat.

Is she angry at you? 

You stare out the window. A dark web of entwined shadows spins past. 

You place your forearm across your eyes as hot tears spill from them, choking back the sobs pushing at your throat. 

“I’m not mad at you,” says Fia. Her voice barely reaches you over the growl of the engine it’s so soft. “I’m just...” She shakes her head. 

You wipe away the tears. Fia’s voice calms you but the hesitation in her voice, the weakness...

You reach out to touch her hand. This time she shies away from you. She shakes her head again. “Please don’t. Just... please.”

Her voice is so plaintive it frightens you. 

The rest of the trip passes in total silence.

\-----------------

You get ready for bed. Fia has splashed some water on her face and stripped out of her clothes, leaving them on the edge of the bath. You don’t have the heart to take them to the laundry and leave them there.

You stare at yourself in the mirror. Is this the face of a good husband, you wonder? You try and imagine what’s happening at the homes of the other married women at the party. Is everyone’s married life like this? This fear, this sudden fear that your wife doesn’t really love you.

So that’s what it is.

You take a shower, shampoo and condition your hair, dry yourself thoroughly. You look at yourself in the mirror again. You fuss with your hair, check your profile. Fia called you cute that evening, the night after your wedding night, when she was drunk and tried to force herself on you. She’d been maddened by your vulnerability, by your innocence.

You open the door to the bedroom. Fia is already in bed, lying on her side, her face turned away from the door. Light spills into the room leaving a blazing panel on the far wall. Fia must have noticed it. She’s just feigning that she’s asleep. Fia snores when she sleeps. 

You slide into bed behind her, slipping your arm over her soft warmth. She doesn’t move. You cuddle yourself closer to her, burying your lips in her hair, kissing the back of her neck. 

You’re hard. You want her to make love to you, to do everything she wanted to do to you that night she was drunk. Your hands find the weight of her breasts beneath her nightdress. Her nipples are hard. You pinch them and she gasps.

Fia rolls over to face you.

Her voice, little more than a whisper. “Please don’t. I’m tired.”

I’m tired.

You roll over, a ball of anger and sadness and frustration fueled by your drunkenness. You want to flee the bed, leave her lying in it alone. Instead you just cry, making no sound, pushing your face against the pillow until it grows wet. 


	4. Chapter 4

You wake to a throbbing pain striving to split your head in two. You reach across the bed for Fia but she’s not there.

You leap out of bed and hurry downstairs. There’s a message waiting for you on the kitchen bench written on the Cantarella stationery.

_Darling,_  
 _Something’s come up at the office and I had to leave early. Sorry if I scared you! I’ll be back home as soon as I can. If I’m late, please don’t wait up for me._  
 _Fia_

You toss the note aside. It reads like an excuse. She just doesn’t want to see you. You probably disgust her.

Abandoned, you find some pills in the medicine cabinet and down more than you should. Then you make yourself breakfast. You end up baking far more than you need, but the cracking of eggs and the whisking and the precision of the addition of flour and sugar calms the worst of your despair. 

While you’re waiting for the oven to chime, though, you’re again left with your thoughts and anger wells up in you. You remember Constantin. Is he you in thirty years? A nice guy who drinks too much striving to forget all the other men his wife is sleeping with, giving advice to the next generation of smiling cuckolds? 

Where is Fia really? _Something’s come up at the office._ It sounds like an excuse. _Something’s come up..._

It’s then that you notice Fia’s briefcase beside the couch. She always takes it with her to the office.

_Something’s come up at the office..._

_...the office..._

You collapse against the kitchen counter. The oven pings and you don’t even notice it. Later the fire alarm goes off and you’re thrown out of your bubble of stunned agony. You turn off the oven and shout at the apartment to open a window.

The glass sheers up and the smoke billows out. The madeleines are charred coals. You dump them in the rubbish and throw the tray into the sink, burning yourself in the process. You run your hand under the cold flowing water of the faucet and blink at the tears coming to your eyes.

You won’t cry. Not over her. 

Why did you have to fall in love with her? It just makes things harder. You realise then that you’re more like Haru than Constantin: Haru, angry at Lanzo’s ill-chosen words about Quinn; Haru, who looked across with such adoration in his eyes at Quinn. Quinn, who pulled you against her and kissed you. 

The kiss. Her tongue had been so hot, so agile in your mouth, her grip around your waist so inexorable. You feel yourself getting hard at the memory and in disgust you grab the scourer and throw yourself into scrubbing the carbonisation off the madeleine tray.

You tidy up and spray the living room with air freshener, but the smell of smoke lingers along with the now-dull agony in your heart. You slump onto the couch. You know you should busy yourself doing something, but you don’t have the heart. 

The wallscreen chimes at you. You make no move for a long while, but the chiming continues. You leap up and answer it, thinking it’s Fia. 

It’s Quinn’s face that appears on the screen. Seeing you, she’s startled. “Oh, I didn’t think anyone was at home.” 

Behind her you see part of the frangipani tree in the front of your apartment. She’s downstairs right now.

Quinn’s dark eyes glimmer. “I came to apologise about that little misunderstanding last night. To the both of you. Is Fia home?”

You shake your head. She’s at the office, dealing with some serious business. You squint with pain at having to repeat the lie.

“Oh,” says Quinn, frowning. “That’s disappointing. I brought a little gift along by way of saying sorry. But perhaps I can just leave it with the concierge...”

You tell Quinn you can’t leave her on the doorstep after coming all this way and ask her if she’d like to come upstairs and have coffee.

Her face brightens, but then a shadow passes over it. “I don’t want to impose. Are you sure Fia won’t mind?”

You chuckle. The apartment is yours as well, you say.

Quinn smiles. “Thank you. Coffee would be most welcome. If it’s anything like your baking, I have a real treat waiting for me.”

You flick at the screen to open the security door and the wallscreen goes blank.

Your heart is racing. What the hell are you doing? Fia told you never to answer a call from Quinn and now you’ve invited her up to the apartment. Well, there’s no harm in coffee, right? And it’s the polite thing to do. 

You tidy up the kitchen in a frenzy and start making the coffee. The elevator chimes just as you’ve started to froth the milk and you call out to Quinn to come in.

She steps into the living room, her dark eyes wide as she searches you out. She’s wearing a blue and pink floral tea dress and is cradling a magnum-sized bottle in her arms. In casual clothes she looks completely different. The Managing Director of Cayetano-Kichijouten Banking Corporation is nowhere to be seen. She’s just a woman, like any of Janisa’s friends when they came to visit.

You duck your head out of the kitchen and say that you’re fixing the coffee and ask her to make herself at home. Quinn smiles at you and nods. She seems nervous. 

When you bring out the coffee she’s sitting on the couch. The magnum is resting on the coffee table. It’s gigantic.

“Sorry it’s so big,” she says, reading your eyes as she takes the cup and saucer from you. “I’ve heard you’re not a very big drinker. I suppose Fia can help you, though.”

You seat yourself on the sofa at right angles to Quinn. She sips the coffee and murmurs in appreciation. 

“So we can add ‘barista’ to your list of talents,” she says, replacing the cup. “Just a hint of bitterness and a perfect crema.” She glances at the milk and sugar arrayed before her then looks back up at you, apologetic. “Could I trouble you for a little butter, perhaps? I’m afraid I always drink my coffee contaminated with it.”

You apologise for not realising she might take her coffee French-style and hurry off to the kitchen. Quinn’s eyes follow you as you return.

“I’m the one who should be apologising,” she says as she stirs the melting butter into her coffee. “I’m afraid I let things get out of control last night. Haru and the boys...” She sips her coffee. “I did warn Haru to keep his usual hijinks under control, but when I saw you being stripped, well...” She places the coffee on the table. “To be perfectly honest, I didn’t want to miss the chance of seeing what you look like naked so I went along with it.”

You blush and nod, unsure of what you should say in response to such a comment. Your skin tingles under her gaze.

“Please,” says Quinn, placing her hand on yours. “Enjoy your coffee before it goes cold.”

You do as she says. The coffee is still a little too hot, but in the interests of being an accommodating host you sip at it. It’s also bitterer than you like it. You must’ve tamped the ground coffee too much. 

“A little bitter for you?” asks Quinn. She must have noticed your grimace. “You don’t take it with cream and sugar usually?”

You shake your head. You always drink your coffee straight.

A delighted smile flashes onto Quinn’s face. “A young man of excellent taste! Haru always spoils his with piles of cream and sugar like a child. He might as well be drinking hot chocolate.” 

Smiling, Quinn sits there watching you. You take sip after sip and find yourself quickly finishing your coffee. You replace your cup and scramble for something to say. The silence is making you nervous, although Quinn seems happy to just sit there with her hands in her lap, watching you.

You cough and mention that Constantin told you she and Fia met each other at school.

Quinn’s eyes widen. “You heard that from Constantin?” A chuckle. “That old fox knows everything, doesn’t he? I’m surprised Fia hadn’t already told you about it.”

You reply that Fia doesn’t really talk about herself much.

“Is that so? Then I guess I’ll have to be the one to enlighten you.” She sits back. “Let’s see. We went to the same Liceo Classico. It was a small one. Neither of us came from rich families.” Quinn notices you fidgeting. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not one of those hypocrites that looks down on people born into the aristocracy. We all wish the same could’ve happened to us, after all. Besides, being an aristocrat is not synonymous with being rich, is it?”

You start at the comment but Quinn ignores you. “She was a tall, gangly girl. Your wife, I mean. And yet the boys really had a thing for her. You speak French, yes? I guess she had a _je ne sais quoi_. That’s how she got her name, you know. ‘The Barracuda’. You’ve heard it I suppose. Always swimming about, here and there, feasting off any little fishy that came her way. She liked the quiet, gentle boys the most.”

Your eyes start to burn. You stare down at your hands in your lap. You notice you’re squeezing them together tightly. You try and relax them but they feel wrong no matter how you place them so you return to wringing them. Quinn is waiting for your gaze when you finally lift it. 

“Anxious?” she asks. “It must be difficult for a husband, having to always worry where his wife is. Haru’s the same, despite just being my assistant.”

You lower your face and start to cry. You try and stop yourself, but it’s too late. Your eyes turn liquid, the tears falling straight down into your lap. A sob escapes your lips and then another one. Humiliated, you wipe at your eyes, hoping that Quinn has turned away. Then you feel an arm around your shoulders, a soft, warm breast pressed against your side. Quinn is beside you, hugging you. She draws your head down onto her chest and you let her. It feels so soft and warm. Your tears continue and after a while you try pull away, afraid that you’re getting Quinn’s dress wet.

“Shh,” she murmurs. “Don’t worry about this stupid dress. Just cry. It’ll make you feel better.” She kisses the top of your head. “I know you’re new to all this. It’s normal to get upset. I suppose Constantin must have told you some things that frightened you.”

You nod. She squeezes you tighter to her. You grow quiet, the warmth and strength of Quinn’s body calming you. The tears stop. The hand belonging to the arm around your shoulders pats your thigh like Loretta used to when you woke from nightmares. 

You sit there for a long while. At last you raise your head. Your eyes are stinging with salt and you feel hot all over. 

“My, my,” murmurs Quinn. “Your face is all red.” She cups your chin and darts forward, kissing first one eye and then the other. “There. Dry your tears.” Her thumbs wipe off the moisture remaining on your cheeks.

She looks at you, her own eyes wet. “She doesn’t deserve you, you know. You deserve better than to belong to some mean barracuda. You’re too cute for her. _Far_ too cute.” Quinn leans forward, her hands keeping you from moving your head away, and kisses you on the lips. You struggle, but not hard. You know it’ll make no difference. Besides, part of you wants to get back at Fia for hurting you, wants to be kissed, to be reassured.

Quinn takes her lips away. “That was a nicer kiss that time. A nice, gentle kiss for a nice gentle boy. Can I kiss you again?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. Her lips press against yours, the tip of her tongue slipping out. You open your mouth to accept it.

Quinn pulls you onto her lap while you kiss. Her arms surround you, her hands crisscrossing over your back. The kiss grows hungry. You feel yourself getting hotter and hotter and harder, too. 

One of Quinn’s hands slips into your lap and finds it. She cups your hardness and you gasp, her touch sending a spark along your spine. You feel so hot, almost feverish. What’s the matter with you? What are you doing? Why are you letting her...?

You push at her hand and try and pull away from her kiss, but Quinn throws her arm around your neck again and keeps your lips against hers. In desperation you push at the couch with your feet and push at her chest with your hands and finally break free, but the violence of the movement sends you backwards onto the floor with a yelp. With one hand clutching the couch you pull yourself upright but Quinn is already on her feet and she grabs you under your armpits and lifts you to your feet.

You struggle but Quinn’s hold on you is firm. You babble something about feeling feverish, that you must be sick, that she should go... 

Quinn laughs. “Well,” she says. “If you’re sick you should go to bed and have a nice lie down. Where’s the bedroom? I’ll carry you there.”

“No, no, no,” you say.

Quinn sighs. “Typical boy. You don’t know what you want, do you? The couch will have to do, then.” She throws you onto the couch and with one hand pushing your chest down she wrestles with your belt with the other.

You panic. Why are you still so hard? All you want is for Quinn to go away, to stop this, and yet your body is acting differently.

Quinn chuckles at your fluster. “Oh don’t worry, you’re not sick. I just slipped you a little something in your coffee. You know, to help this whole takeover go smoother.” She’s managed to unbuckle your belt one handed and unzips you. Her hand slips straight inside and squeezes you between the legs. She murmurs, pleased. “Yes. That’s what we want. Nice and hard. You know, sildenafil really is a godsend. Before, you had to spend ages getting the boy hard before you could fuck him properly. Streamlines the whole process nicely.”

At Quinn’s words you struggle harder. She uses your movement against you, grasping the waist of your pants and underwear and pulling them down off your kicking legs. In the process, your foot connects with Quinn’s shoulder and she falls back with a grunt, clutching your clothes. You stop, shocked. Quinn grins up at you as she rubs the place you struck her.

“You should conserve that energy, you know,” she says, tossing aside your pants and underwear. “You’ll need it. After we do it here on the couch I want to do it on Fia’s bed.” 

You scramble backwards as Quinn crawls up onto the couch. You won’t do it with her, you say. You’ll tell Fia what she tried to do.

Quinn grabs hold of your feet and laughs. “You’re not going to say anything to Fia. You know all about our deal, right? With Lunghezza Motori trying to take her over, she needs my bank’s money, otherwise she’ll lose everything. That’s why she’s so careful to stay on the right side of me. That’s why she let all that happen last night, at my party.”

You stop struggling. Quinn’s words are no empty threat. Fia told you as much herself. Fia... she could lose everything!

Quinn lets go of your feet and sits up on her knees. She looks down at you. “I know that look. You realise I’m telling the truth, don’t you? Fia hates that she has to rely on me. That’s why she had to marry you. But it’s too little too late. The Savoys aren’t going to come riding in like the cavalry to save her and her company. The only ones who can save her now are me and you.”

You? You stare at her.

Quinn smiles at you. The smile is disarmingly sweet. “You know what you have to do, right? I’m going to fuck you and then I’m going to go home. You won’t say anything to Fia. It’ll be our little secret. That way, Fia gets to keep her company and I get to keep you.” her smile grows saturnine. “That’s right. This won’t be the only time. I’m going to come back whenever Fia’s away so I can enjoy you And Fia will be none the wiser.”

You shake your head, telling her that you won’t, that you’ll tell her everything, but you realise the emptiness of your words. If you don’t do what Quinn says, Fia will lose everything. And yet, if you do...

Quinn slips her dress up off her shoulders and tosses it aside in one fluid movement. She’s wearing black, lacy underwear underneath. “I hate wrestling out of a suit. That’s why I came prepared.” She stretches herself over you and draws her nails across your still-clothed chest. “Oh, and don’t bother taking your shirt off. I want you keep it on. You look so vulnerable lying there half-nude.” You turn your head away, but she grabs your chin and pulls you to face her. Her eyes are dark, the pupils impossibly large. Her breath envelopes you with its hot sweetness, mixing with her perfume, that heavy, narcotic perfume from last night. 

She kisses you then, her tongue diving into you. You struggle but you stop when you realise it just seems to make Quinn more excited. She sucks your tongue into her mouth and bites down on it gently. She pulls her lips away and leaves you gasping, your tongue stinging from the scratching of her teeth.

“Well, at least Fia has taught you to kiss properly,” says Quinn, sitting back up. Straddling your thighs, she reaches down and takes your hardness into her hand. She strokes it, smearing the stickiness already spilling from the head along the shaft. “What else has she taught you? How she likes to be licked between the legs? I bet she loves it when you do that. And how about fucking? I bet she likes to be on top. Do you like it when she slides herself down onto you?”

You shake your head, your face burning in shame, muttering that you don’t know anything about that.

Quinn stops stroking you. “No. Don’t tell me!” Her voice falls to a whisper. “Fia... she’s never fucked you, has she? You’re still a virgin?” A gasp escapes Quinn’s lips. Her voice remains low, husky with rising excitement. “So I’m going to be your first and Fia won’t ever know.” 

With her free hand she reaches down and pulls aside her underwear. Her sex is red and swollen, glistening with fluid. “Your first. And every time she fucks you, she’ll be fucking what I’ve already had.” Quinn positions your hardness and leans forward. “Oh, I had no idea Fia had so lost her touch. When we were younger, there was no way the Barracuda would have left a virgin unspoiled!”

You close your eyes as you feel her place the tip of your penis against her. She’s hot, and slimy. Quinn giggles and kisses you like a lover would. “You know what the funniest thing is?” she murmurs against your lips. “Fia will guess my little game. She’ll know that the meeting I called was all a sham when Haru apologises to her for sending her the wrong information. Then she’ll come home here and smell me everywhere: on this couch, on your clothes, in your bed, on you. And she won’t say anything, because she’ll understand the unspoken deal, the price of my support. And you won’t say anything to her either. I’ll always be there, between the two of you...”

She rubs you against her slit and starts to pant. You lie as still as possible, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to block out the heavy, excited sounds Quinn is making.

Fia... you’re betraying her. And yet you’re only doing this for her, letting this happen because you love her.

You _love_ her.

Quinn stops kissing you. Her lips pull away from yours. Her weight comes off you.

Your eyes flash open. Quinn’s head is turned. You see someone behind her, standing at the doorway to the kitchen.

It’s Fia.

“The fire escape,” says Fia, her voice emotionless. “There’s a door in the kitchen. Useful for coming and going without letting anyone know.” 

“Fia,” says Quinn.

“Get off my husband.” 

Quinn swings herself off you and slips off the couch, grinning. Free at last, you scramble up into a sitting position, your hands covering your crotch, ashamed of your still angry erection. 

“How did you guess?” Quinn asks, bending over to retrieve her dress.

“Just a hunch,” says Fia. 

“You’re lying,” says Quinn. “ _He_ told you, didn’t he? Haru.”

Fia’s eyes barely move, but it’s enough for Quinn to know that she has guessed right. Her face contorts into a frightening grimace of hatred. “That backstabbing little fag! I’ll toss him back on the street!”

Fia shrugs. “He’s already gone, Quinn.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” says Quinn, her smile returning to its usual sweetness with horrifying swiftness. “No doubt you heard everything I told hubby. You understand where we stand, don’t you? Regarding the deal, I mean. It still stands.”

Fia’s face is unreadable. “The deal? I let you have sex with my husband, you’ll back my takeover?”

Quinn nods. “I’ll let you take his virginity, of course. I’m sorry I was so greedy. It’ll be just like old times.” 

“Let me think about it,” says Fia.

You shudder. Fia... she’s not really considering Quinn’s suggestion, is she?

Quinn glances in your direction and winks. “I think hubby likes the idea.” She lifts her dress up and is in the middle of pulling it over her head when Fia steps forward and punches her full in the stomach. Quinn doubles over in agony and falls to her knees, the dress still covering her face.

“I thought about it,” Fia says sweetly to the winded woman at her feet. “The answer’s _no_.”

Quinn wrestles the dress down over her body, gasping, her face a rictus of pain which transmutes to fury when she looks on Fia again. “You fucking bitch! I’ll be laughing when everything you’ve built up is torn away from under you!”

“I know you will,” says Fia. “Since you’re behind it all. You’re the one underwriting Lunghezza Motori’s counter takeover.”

Quinn’s face looks as if she’s been punched a second time. 

“Oh, I’ve known for a while,” says Fia. “I’ve got my spies too, you know. Moving shadow-money from your secret offshore accounts to fund Lunghezza Motori while waiting for the perfect moment to withdraw support of Cantarella.” Fia’s face suddenly sheds its emotionlessness. She’s gripped by pain. “You hate me that much, Quinn?”

“Hate you?” Quinn spits. “Of course I hate you. I’ve always hated you, you snaggle-toothed bitch! You never knew when to back down. Always taking things that weren’t yours, using that doe-eyed motherly face of yours. Taking _him_ from me.”

Fia blinks. “Who?”

All at once Quinn’s face crumbles. “You- you don’t remember?”

Fia shakes her head. “Whoever he was, I know you were cruel to him, Quinn. You were cruel to _all_ of them. Sooner or later they realised you were incapable of loving anyone except yourself. Just like Haru did last night at the party.” Fia’s voice slips down into a whisper. “All of this? All of this over some boy from twenty years ago?” 

Quinn stares at Fia, her face stony. “Twenty years? A short time compared to forever, and humiliation is forever, Fia. You’ll soon learn what it’s like, once I’m done stealing _your_ most precious thing from you. When I’ve finished with your company, there’ll be nothing left but the name - and names can be changed.” She glances across at you then, that deceptive sweet smile flashing upon her lips. “Well, it’s been fun, handsome hubby. Pity I couldn’t show you how a real woman treats a boy. You’ll just have to be Fia’s consolation prize.” 

Quinn walks over to the elevator and presses the button. “Enjoy the next round of negotiations, Fia. They will not be at all gentle. And don’t bother looking to the Savoys for help - I’ve already poisoned that well through Milana.”

The elevator chimes and she gets in. She turns to face the two of you and winks at you one last time as the doors close.

With Quinn gone, all of Fia’s energy seems to fall from her and she collapses onto the couch beside you. She places her face in her hands and starts to weep.

You sit there, half-naked, flustered at the sudden outpouring of emotion from your usually stoic wife. You lean across and throw your arms around her neck, murmuring to her that everything will be alright.

With the back of her hand Fia rubs the tears from her swollen eyes. A fragile smile appears on her lips and she hugs you back. “Liar. You beautiful, kind, darling liar.” Then she grins with a strangely childish triumph. “But do you know something? After all that, Quinn’s wrong. She didn’t take my most precious thing away from me.”

You ask her what she means and she hugs you closer to her. “I mean _you_ , dopey. You’re no consolation prize. _You’re_ my most precious thing.”

Blushing, you lay your head against her chest as she runs her fingers through your hair. In a whisper you ask her what’s going to happen now.

“Well,” she says. “We’ll have no choice but to stage a fire sale.” She grins down at your blank face. “Just another bit of corporate jargon. It means we’ll start selling things off to make the takeover less appealing to Lunghezza. With some creative accountancy, I should be able to spirit us away a little before my enemies on the board fire me, which they almost certainly will. We’ll be reduced to drinking wine from fiaschi for a while until we can get things started up again, though. I hope you can deal with that.”

Tears start in your eyes. You nuzzle your face into her chest, apologising for everything that happened. You’ve been a lousy husband, jealous and angry and foolish and...

“Please stop that,” she says, taking your chin in her hands and lifting your face to hers. New tears glisten in her eyes. “I’m the one who’s to blame for all this. At Quinn’s party... those women and their boys, those wolves. I should have protected you from them, kept you safe, and instead I just threw you to them. To save myself.” She crushes you back against her chest and kisses the top of your head. “It’s a woman’s duty to protect her husband, and you’re the one who ended up protecting me.”

Enveloped in the warmth and scent of her body, your tears stop flowing. In a murmur you ask her what she means.

“Like Quinn said,” replies Fia. “I was greedy. A greedy barracuda that was never satisfied. Until I met you, that is.” She traces the edge of your chin with a lazy finger. “You know, every day at the office, in all those interminable meetings and constant negotiations and battles with the board, the only thing I could think about was how soon I could rush home to you. Nothing else really matters all that much to me anymore. As long as I have you, I’m happy. There’s nothing Quinn can do to harm me now.” She kisses you. “Like the vows say, “in poverty as in wealth’, though I don’t think being forced to move back to my family home can really be called being thrown into poverty.” She chuckles. “How do you fancy going into the wine-making business? There are fields and fields of old-stock grapes that we can work on building up. Maybe Haru can come and work for us. I think he’ll be in need of a job soon. You’ll have to promise not to kiss him, though. It’ll make me jealous.”

You snuggle closer, telling her you don’t mind what happens either as long as she doesn’t mind having to eat more rustic dishes.

“I can already see you working the farmstead’s old wood stove,” Fia says, her eyes aglow. “Oh, and you’re dressed only in an apron so that I can attack you whenever I want.”

Her words remind you that you’re still half-naked. The image of Fia coming up behind you and trying to distract you as you cook makes you harden. Soon you’re sporting another erection and mortified you thrust your hands over your crotch to try and hide it. 

Fia laughs when she sees what’s happening. “Wow. My words did that? Or maybe it was that kiss earlier?” She takes your hands away gently, and you only put up a token resistance. You feel your body growing hot, almost feverish.

Of course. The drug that Quinn slipped you. It’s still working. 

Fia slides her hands along the length. “You’re like diamond. Well, it seems a shame to waste it.” She lifts you gasping into her arms, then, and carries you up the stairs to the bedroom. She kicks the door open and staggers inside before throwing you onto the bed and climbing on after you.

On all fours she starts to lick you, making you shudder in delight. Then she stops momentarily and gazes up at you, her eyes dark and hot.

“I want to spoil you, okay? So please come in my mouth as quickly as you like.”

You shake your head and blushing, your voice little louder than a whisper, you tell Fia that you want her to make love to you. You want to be totally hers, to give her your most precious gift. You’re ready, now.

“Worried that someone else might steal your virginity before me?” asks Fia. Her expression is a confusion of arousal, shame and amusement. But excitement quickly dominates the other emotions and her grin deepens, her eyes flashing dangerously. 

She leans forward and kisses you while she pulls up her pencil skirt one-handed, bunching her skirt around her waist. Her underwear is white, dark between her legs with her excitement. She peels them down and impatiently wriggles them off. Then, still kissing you, she takes hold of the hem of your shirt and pulls you over on top of her. 

She grasps your hardness in her hand and guides the head against her boiling sex. She’s dripping with excitement. You shudder, overcome with desire. But Fia just rubs you against her, her other hand stroking your buttocks while you continue to kiss.

Gasping, Fia breaks the kiss at last. “It’s so strange,” she breathes, her eyes hooded, her face flushed. “I feel like I’m losing my virginity as well. I mean, this’ll be my first time having sex with someone I love.”

She slides you into her then. You cry out at the exquisite pleasure of the boiling stickiness that engulfs you. So this... so this is how it feels to be inside a woman. 

Fia. You’re inside Fia, your wife. The woman you love.

She pulls you closer to her and you instinctively start to move your hips, shivering with delight at this new and intense sensation. Fia directs your naïve, eager thrusts, her hands on your hips guiding you faster, now slower, varying the delightful rhythm of your penetration. You roll your eyes, panting as pleasure wracks your body. Saliva trickles from the corner of your mouth and Fia pulls you down on top of her, hungrily licking the saliva away and piercing her hot tongue into your mouth. 

You accept her tongue, allowing Fia to explore your mouth and teasing her with your own. You fumble at the buttons to Fia’s blouse and she takes her hands from your hips to help you. With a better idea of what you’re doing now, your thrusts are faster, more confident. Fia pants and gasp against your mouth as your kiss grows deeper still.

Soon her blouse lies open and you break the kiss to turn your attention to her beautiful breasts. Unsure of how to remove her bra, you instead pull the cups down just enough to release her thick nipples which you immediately attack with lips and tongue.

Fia pulls your head to her chest, moaning. “Please. Please bite them. Oh! No, a little harder. Ah! Yes, like _that_.”

The softness of her breasts, the scratchiness of the lacy trimming of her bra rubbing against your face, the wild scent of her, her impassioned gasping moans all drive you close to the edge. You pull back, slowing your thrusts as you grimace with the almost-pain of the excruciating tension rapidly filling you, but Fia grabs your buttocks and forces you harder and deeper inside her.

“Come for me,” she whispers, her voice hoarse with need. “Don’t hold back. Come for me, darling. Come as much as you can. Make me yours.”

Her urgent pleading and the rising heat inside her is too much for you to bear. With a final, wild thrust you come. Your vision turns white and you cry out as thunderbolt of pleasure spears up your spine to explode in your head. Still thrusting, you spill what feels like your entire being into her, into Fia - your wife, the woman you love more than anything else, the one you’ll be together with forever, sharing her home and bed - filling to overflowing with your life the woman you’ll raise your children with, who you’ll be ever faithful to, having and holding until death do you part...

Until death...

\----------

Eyes closed, you’re lying on exquisite softness. Firm, strong arms are wrapped around you. There’s a scent, a beautiful floral scent tinged with perspiration and an earthy spiciness, the lingering smell of sex. Your body is drained, every limb powerless to move, and all you can do is murmur her name as you remember who you are and where you are and everything that happened.

Fia. Fia. Fia.

So this is what love is. And now you’ve done it all, given yourself to Fia. Your heart feels full enough to explode and you turn your head so that you can kiss the deliciously soft and fragrant warmth of the woman you love.

“Has my little fishy woken up at last?” The voice from the unseen Fia is sleepy and teasing. You feel hands slide across your back and along your spine to entwine in your sweaty hair. 

You lift your head up to look at her. Fia smiles down at you. You stay that way, like a child in his mother’s arms, while she pecks you with tiny butterfly kisses all across the sweaty skin of your face and neck.

“You taste salty, my little fishy. I feel like I could work up another appetite.”

You giggle. She isn’t really all that much like a barracuda after all, you tell her. She can’t be. Barracudas aren’t soft and warm like she is.

Fia laughs. “Is that so? Well, maybe I’ll stop referring to myself as ‘the Barracuda’ then. It’s a stupid nickname, anyway. Did I ever tell you how I got it?”

You’re about to say that Quinn already told you, but the thought of talking about that woman makes your stomach turn, so you just shake your head.

“Well,” says Fia. “When I was a kid my teeth were all crooked. _Badly_ crooked, like a train wreck. My family didn’t have any money so there wasn’t anything I could do about it. The other kids used to tease me about it. ‘Look out, here comes the barracuda!’ they used to say. I cried about it all the time until my mother told me that I should use it to my advantage. ‘Just look them in the eyes and tell them, ‘Yes, I am a barracuda!’ and then sock them one in the mouth.’” Fia sighs. “She was a wise woman, my mother. It was the best advice anyone ever gave me. Of course, I got my teeth straightened when I had the money to do it, but the name stuck.”

You snuggle closer. Now you know the true story behind it, Fia’s nickname doesn’t seem at all scary anymore.

With a contented sigh, Fia rolls onto her back and puts a hand on her stomach. “You came an awful lot, you know. It feels like I’m full to the brim.” She strokes her belly. “I’m so full I don’t think I can be a greedy barracuda anymore. I’ll have to find myself a new nickname.”

You reach over and take her hand in yours. 

“How about ‘mom’?” you suggest. 

Fia cries out in delight and pulls you on top of her. She crushes you to her, kissing your neck and mouth until you’re breathless, and it’s not long before the two of you are eagerly striving to make Fia Collatini, formerly ‘the Barracuda’, live up to her new nickname. 

The End


End file.
